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Miuu 

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empreinte. 


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whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaltra  sur  la 
derniAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 


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required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
film  As  A  dee  taux  de  rAductlon  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  II  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

t 


^ 


THE  STRUCTURAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE! 
APPLIED. 


A  MANUAL  OF  ENGLISH  PROSE  COMPOSITION. 


1-' 


BY 


J.  D.  LOGAN,  A.  M.,  Ph.  D.  (Harvard). 

I'BOFBSSOH  OF  ENOUSH  AND  OF  PHirX)SOPHV  IN  THB 

Statb  Univehbity  of  South  Dakota. 


ViaMILUOK,  S.  D, 

WIUEY  *  DANFORTH 

laoo 


1 


^ 


f);9(>o 


OPYRIOHT,  1900,  BY  THE  ArTHOH. 


All  Rights  Kesbbvbd. 


PiiKss  OK  THE  Dakota  Bbpublican,  Vebmiluon,  S.  D. 


^ 


TO 

V.  S.  L. 


ION,  8.  D. 


^ 


\o  human  empleyment  is  more  free  and  calculable  than 
the  winiiinj,'  of  lan!,'uage.  Undoubtedly  there  are  natural 
aptitudes  for  it,  as  there  are  for  farniinfj,  seamanship,  or 
being  a  good  husband.  Hut  nowhere  is  straight  work  more 
etTective.  Persistence,  care,  discriminatingobservation,  ingenu- 
ity, refusal  to  h)se  heart,— traits  which  in  every  other  occupa- 
tion tend  toward  excellence,— tend  toward  it  here  with  special 
security.— Ci.  II.  Palmer:  SelfCtiltivation  in  English. 


^ 


liable  tlmn 
ire  natural 
lanship,  or 
work  niorc 
ion,  inyenu- 
lier  occiipa- 
with  special 
English. 


TOPICAL  INDEX. 


fAOK 

vi 
I 

4 


Pkkkack        •        •       '•        •        •        •        • 

iNTROlU'CriON  •  *  •  »  •  •  •        < 

Chaitkr  I 

Style  Defined.— The  Aim  and  the  Value  of  the 
Tr.actieal  Study  of  Style.— The  Methods,  Old 
and  New,  of  thus  Studying  Style.— The  Method 
of  this  Textl)ook. 

Chaptbr  II 3'"* 

The  Fundamental  Aspect  of  Prose  Style:  the 
Difference  Between  Speech  and  Written  Com- 
position.— The  Construction  of  n  theme:  Tarts 
and  Principles.— The  Abstract  Construction  of 
a  Theme. — The  Concrete  Construction  of  n 
Theme:  an  Application  of  Principles  to  Origi- 
nal tlomposition  and  to  Revision. 

Chatter  III 9' 

Paragraphs:  their  Naiure  and  Function.— The 
Construction  of  Paragraphs:  Principles  and 
Methods.-  -The  Paragraph  as  an  Independent 
Whole:  the  Principles  and  Methods  of  Inter- 
nally Arranging  its  Parts. — The  Paragraph  as. a 
Related  Whole:  the  Principles  and  Methods  of 
Interconnecting  Paragraph  with  Paragraph. 

Chapter  IV iS' 

Sentences:  their  Nature  and  Function. — The 
Composing  of  Sentences:  Structural  Principles. 
—The  Punctuating  of  Sentences:  Methods  Based 
on  the  Length  and  the  Form  of  Sentences. — 
Words  as  Materials  of  Composition:  Principles 
of  Choosing  Them. 


^ 


PRBFACE. 


The  substauco  of  the  treatise  in  Viand  was 
delivered  during  the  academic  session  of  lHi)9- 
li»00  to  the  students  of  the  State  University 
of  South  Dalcota,  in  the  form  of  lectures  on 
the  theory  and  the  practice  of  English  prose 
composition.  I  now  publish  these  lectures  in 
the  form  of  a  practical  treatise;  and  I  do  so  for 
purely  practical  reasons.  First:  I  am  too 
sound  a  psychologist  not  to  know  that  every 
expert  teacher  must  in  the  end  adapt  even  the 
most  excellent  textbook  to  the  needs  of  his 
pupils  and  to  the  peculiarities  of  his  own 
methods  of  teaching;  that,  therefore,  the  text- 
book which  meets  the  peculiar  wants  of  a 
teacher,  even  if  that  textbook  be  of  his  own 
making,  is  the  best  for  him.  I  publish  my 
lectures  solely  in  order  to  meet  my  own 
peculiar  wants.  Consequently  I  do  not  recom- 
mend my  own  textbook  to  any  other  teacher. 
Secondly:  While  indeed  I  am  sincere  in  refus- 
ing to  recommend  my  textbook  in  itself,  I  do 
recommend  the  method  employed  in  it.  The 
method  itself  is  based  upon  an  empirical  study 
of  how  all  good  writers  have  become  expert 


# 


I 


^ 


and  was 
of  1899- 
ilversity 
tures  on 
sh  prose 
3tures  in 
do  so  for 
am  too 
at  every 
even  the 
s  of  his 
his  own 
the  text- 
nts  of  a 
his  own 
)lish  my 
my  own 
)t  recom- 
teacher. 
in  refus- 
;elf,  I  do 
it.  The 
cal  study 
e  expert 


I 


PHKFACE. 


vil 


In  composin;?  and  of  how,  even  as  experts,  they 
actually  do  write.  The  method  of  my  textbook 
is  not  an  academic  method:  it  is  the  actual 
method  of  good  writers.  Once  I  was  con- 
vinced of  this  fact,  I  next  went  about  seeking 
what  principles  (not  rules)  all  good  writers 
ompl«)yed  in  making  their  comi)ositions  artis- 
tic wholes.  I  discovered  only  two  princi- 
ple.s:  namely,  the  principles  that  every  piece 
of  composition  must  express  a  single  idea, 
and  that  the  concrete  expression  of  this  idea 
must  proceed  in  a  logical  order.  These  i)rin- 
ciples  I  have  named  Unity  of  Substance  and 
Unity  of  Form.  It  seemed  to  me,  then,  as  I 
made  trial  of  my  discoveries,  that  the  results 
from  the  class-work  fully  verified  the  natural- 
ness and  the  inevitableness  of  my  method.  I 
do  not,  however,  claim  originality  for  the 
method:  it  always  existed— outside  of  schools 
and  colleges.  I  claim  originality  only  for  the 
basis  of  my  method.  1 

In  another  matter  I  have  attempted  in  a 
small  way  an  innovation.  I  have  recom- 
mended a  simple  method  of  punctuating  sen- 
tences. This  method  too  is  empirically  based. 
In  my  studies  of  the  history  of  English  prose 
I  noted  that  as  the  form  and  length  of  the 
literary  sentence  decreased,   the  number  of 


■    t:S 


^ 


vili 


PRKFACK. 


points  of  punctuation  decreased.  (I)  until  in  the 
best  literature  of   today  there  appear  very 
seldom  more  than  three  points,  namely,  the 
comma,  the  period,  and  the  mark  of  interro- 
gation.     If    one,   I  say.    were  to  write  only 
short  simple  sentences,  or.  for  the  sake  of 
variety,  some  complex  sentences  with  only 
one  subordinate  clause,  and  some  compound 
sentences  with  only  two  co-ordinate  clauses, 
one  would  need  to  use  in  a  simple  way  only 
the  three  points  of  punctuation  noted  above. 
My  textbook.  I  am  well  aware,  must  have 
many  blemishes,  especially  because  the  time 
spent  in  actual  writing  was  very  short,  and 
because  the  '  copy '  was  given  from  my  own 
hands  into  the  hands  of  the  compositor  just 
as  he  needed  it.     I  cannot,  however,  regard 
my   taking  the   'pedagogical  attitude'   as  a 
blemish.     A  critic,  no  doubt,  will  regard  this 
attitude  as  unliterary.     But  while,  for  purely 
pedagogical  purposes,  I  address  my  readers 
familiarly,  still  I  use  the  personal  pronouns 
'  You '  and  '  I '  in  a  manner  as  consistent  as 
possible  with  dignity  and  literary  quality^ 

(1)  "It  win  not  be  dlfflcult  to  llnd  imputable  literature,  at 
least  of  the  hitthest  magazine  (trade,  renisterlntt  as  low  as  l.«0 
predications  per  period,  and  as  hish  as  sixty  per  cent,  of  simple 
senteiiees."-91ierman's  AfwJMt(C8o/X-it«mt»re,Cliap.XX.  p.  268. 

Cf.  also  Ohap.  XXIU,  p.  280. 


i.llil*'!" 


4 


(I)  until  in  the 
!  appear  very 
s,  namely,  the 
rk  of  interro- 

to  write  only 
»r  the  sake  of 
ces  with  only 
)me  compound 
din  ate  clauses, 
mple  way  only 
1  noted  above, 
ire,  must  have 
cause  the  time 
ery  short,  and 

from  my  own 
ompositor  just 
3wever,  regard 
attitude'  as  a 
vill  regard  this 
hile,  for  purely 
iss  my  readers 
ional  pronouns 
,s  consistent  as 
ary  quality. 

lutable  literature,  ut 
sterlnis  as  low  as  l.«0 
ty  per  cent,  of  simple 
e»t-e,Cliap.XX.  p.  268. 


■J 


u        f.. 


I'RKFACK. 


ix 


For  many  suggestions  I  am  indebted  to  the 
textbooks  of  Professor  Wendell,  of  Professors 
Herrick  &  Damon,  of  Professor  Carpenter,  of 
Professor  Mead,  and  of  Dr.  Baldwin.  I  have 
peculiar  pleasure  in  acknowledging  my  debt 
to  a  booklet  by  one  of  my  own  teachers- -Pro- 
fessor Palmer's  '  Self  Cultivation  in  English." 
Valuable,  indeed,  as  a  method  of  composition. 
Professor  Palmer's  booklet  was  to  me  an 
inspiration:  it  made  a  seemingly  dull  business 
appear  a  delightful  and  noble  task. 

I  must  express  my  thanks  to  Mr.  E.  H. 
Willey  of  the  firm  of  Willey  &  Danforth,  print- 
ers and  publishers,  for  his  very  expert  reading 
of  the  'proofs'  of  the  text;  and  to  Mr.  G.  W. 
Williams,  compositor  and  pressman  of  the 
same  firm,  for  his  patient  and  artistic  work. 

J.  D.  L. 

Univetsity  of  Sout/t  DakoUf, 
VermilWm,  S.D.,  Oetiitier  2'th,  mm. 


''9,. 

.8 


I 


f 


^ 


^ 


■ 


INTRODUCTION. 

In  this  textbook  I  am  concerned  with 
solvin^r  for  you  a  problem.     I  am  concerned 
with  answering,  in  a  practical  way,   this 
question:     How  may  one  become  ex  per  f  in 
l:ritin<y plain  English  prose?     It  makes 
no  difference  whether  one  wish  to  write  a 
book  big  or  small,  an  essay  for  a  literary 
magazine,  a  speech  for  a  political  campaign, 
or  an  invitation  to  dinner;  in  any  case  I  am 
concerned   with   answering    this    question 
alone :     How  may  one  acquire  a  mastery  of 
simple,  idiomatic  English  prose  style? 

I,  for  my  part,  propose  to  teach  you  how 
to  write  plain  English  prose.  You,  for 
your  part,  if  you  are  wise,  will  not  begin 
the  study  of  prose  style,  until  you  have  put 
to  me  certain  questions  regarding  style.  1 
must  indeed  expect  you  to  do  so.  If  a 
farmer  were  to  propose  to  you  that  you 
learn  to  farm,  or  a  lawyer  that  you  learn 


;f 


^ 


2  I-KINCIPLKS  OF  STVI.K. 

to  practice  law,  or  a  musician    that    you 
learn  to  play  the  piano-forte,   would  you 
say,  immediately:  'Yes:  I  shall  be  deli^rhted 
to  be«;in  at  once?^     Certainly  you  would 
not  say  any  such  thing.     On  the  contrary, 
before  accepting  or  seeking  instruction  in 
farming,  or  in  law,  or  in  music,  you  would, 
tirst  of  all,  ask— implicitly  or  explicitly— 
the  farmer,  or  the  lawyer,  or  the  musician, 
who  proposed  to  teach  you,  a  number  of 
questions  regarding  theaim  and  the  value  of 
instruction  in    farming,  or  in   law,   or  in 
music,  the  methods  of  instruction,  and  the 
likelihood  of  your  becoming  a  successful 
farmer,  or  lawyer,  or  musician. 

If,  then,  in  the  cases  I  have  taken  you 
would  be  naturally  curious  about  the  value 
of  your  learning  a  trade,  or  a  profession, 
or  an  art,  and  about  the  means  of  learning 
a  trade,  or  a  profession,  or  an  art,  and  also 
about  your  own  ability,  after  due  training, 
to  become,  say,  a  farmer,  or  a  lawyer,  or  a 
musician,  will  you  not  now,  in  the  pres- 
ent   case,  be   just   as    curious    about    the 


(si-«*i»!5»ft*«»MBS»*'-«***** 


^ 


lat  you 
lid  you 
L-'lightecl 
I  would 
Dtitrary, 
iction  in 
a  would, 
licitly— 
lusician, 
mber  of 

value  of 
V,   or  in 

and  the 
accessful 

iken  you 
the  value 
ofession, 
learning 
and  also 
training, 
sryer,  or  a 
the  pres- 
bout    the 


.1 


f 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

art  of  English  prose  style?      Before  you 
will  begin,  seriously  or  eagerly,  the  prac- 
tieal  study  of  this  essential  art,  I  must  uideed 
expeet  you  to  ask  me,  in  one  way  or  m 
another;  regarding  it  the  following  ques- 
tions-' What  is  style;  what  is  the  ami  and 
the  value  of  the  study  of  style;  how  may 
one  gain  a  mastery  of  style;  does  one  need 
extraordinary  intellectual  power,  or  simply 
ordinary  power  well-direeted,  to  acqun-e  a 
mastery  of  plain  prose  style-      n  the  next 
few  pages  of  this  textbook  I  shall,  as  s,mp  > 
as  possible,  answer  your  questions,  m  the 
order  in  which  you  have  asked  them. 


^ 


n 


CHAPTER  I. 

STVl  K  I.K.-.SK1..-T.1K  AIM  AND  THE  VAl.l.E  OK  THK  I'RAC 
TlCAl.  STUDY  OI-SIYI.E.-TIIK  MKTllODS,  OLD  AN  D  NEW, 
OV  THUS  STL-DYINO  STYLE—THE  METHOD  OK  THIS 
TEXi'HOOK.  • 

Style  Definecl.-To   detine   any   object, 
whether  a  'thing,'  or  an  'animal,'  one  should 
do  so  in  two  ways.     One  should  describe 
the  external  appearance  of  the  object  to 
be  defined,  and  distinguish  the  me  of  the 
object.      Suppose,  for  example,  that   you 
were  to  ask  me  to  define  the  horse.  I  should 
begin  by  describing  the  external  appearance 
—the  color,  size,  weight,  shape,  gait,  and 
speed— of  the  horse.      But  my  definition 
would  not  be  complete.     I  must  tell  you, 
further,  whether  the  horse  is  a  'thing'  or 
an '  animal ; '  and  if  an  animal,  how  the  horse 
differs  from  other  animals  in  nature  and  in 
use.     To  make  the  matter  all  the  plainer, 
here  is  my  concise  definition  of  the  horse, 
such  a  definition  as  you  would  be  likely  to 


\ 


^ 


THK.  I'RAC- 
I  AM)  NEW, 
)    OV    THIS 


object, 
le  should 
describe 
(bject  to 
e  of  the 
hat  you 

I  should 
pearance 
gait,  and 
lefinition 
tell  you, 
thing'  or 
the  horse 
re  and  in 
e  plainer, 
he  horse, 

likely  to 


STYl.K   l)i:i'INKl>.  5 

find  in  the  best  dictionaries:  'The  horse  is 
a  large  domestic  animal,  usually  white,  0f\- 
black,  or  brown  in  color;  it  excels  other 
domestic  animals  in  beauty,  strength,  speed, 
and  docility;  it  is  used  chiefly  for  drawing 
or  carrying  heavy  materials,  And  for  con- 
veying persons  from  one  place  to  another, 
whether     on    business    or    on    pleasure.' 
Now  suppose  that  instead  of  my  giving  you 
a  merely  verbal  definition  of  the  horse,  I 
should,  first,  show  you  a  horse  actually  at 
work  in  the  field,  or  passing  on  the  street, 
and   then  proceed  to  describe  the  nature 
and  uses  of  the  horse— would  you  not  in 
that    case   all    the  better  understand  my 
definition.      Precisely,  then,  in    the  same 
way  as  I  have  defined  for  you  the  horse,  I 
shall  define  prose  style.    I  shall,  first,  show 
you  a  piece  of  style;  next,  I  shall  point  out 
its  extei-nal  appearance  and  its  uses;  and, 
finally,  I  shall  make  a  concise  'working' 
definition  of  style(').  a. 


(1)    For  wlmt  liunifclluU-ly  follows  I  iiin  Indi-bted  to  IMofes- 
sor  Barrett  Wendeirs  E^uMi  ('"mpimUm,  Clmpt»r  1. 


^ 


0  PRlNCIIM.liS  OK  STVI.KS. 

The  printed  pajje,  or  the  book,  you  are 
now  reading'  is  a  pieee  of  prose  style.     On 
first  view,  as  you  look  at  this  printed  page, 
what  does  style  seem  to   be?      Consider 
simply  and  solely  what  you  see.     As  you 
look  you  see,  tirst  of  all,  little  blaek  marks, 
called  letters;  next,  on  closer  view,  you  see 
groups  of   words,    called   sentences;  and, 
finally,  on  closest  view,  you  see  groups  of 
sentences,  called  paragraphs,  and  groups  of 
paragraphs,  called  a  book,  or  an  essay.     To 
the  bodily  eye,  then,  a  piece  of  prose  style 
appears  to  he  simply  groups  of  little  black 

marks. 

This,  however,  is  the  outward  and  the 
most  insignificant  aspect  of  style.  To 
know  what  style  really  is,  you  must  un- 
derstand, further,  how  these  little  black 
marks  came  to  exist  at  all,  and  why  they 
are  grouped  together  as  you  see  them  thus, 
for  instance,  on  the  printed  page  before 
you.  The  matter  may  be  explained  very 
shortly  and  simply.  Before  there  existed  any 
means  of  men's  expressing  their  thought  and 


STYLK  nKFINF.I). 


,  you  are 
:yie.     On 
ited  page, 
Consider 
As  you 
ck  marks, 
iV,  you  see 
ices;  and, 
groups  of 
I  groups  of 
;ssay.     To 
prose  style 
^ittle  black 

d  and  the 
tyle.  To 
1  must  un- 
ittle  black 
1  why  they 
them  thus, 
age  before 
ained  very 
existed  any 
bought  and 


feelings  by  way  of '  visible  signs,'  /.  <'.,  by  writ- 
ten or  printed  words,  communication  went 
on  through  'audible  signs,' /.  r.,  by  spoken 
words.  This  mode  of  communication, 
however,  was  necessarily  very  much  limited 
in  range  and  hampered  in  despatch.  Ac- 
cordingly men  invented  a  system  of  visible 
signs  to  represent  the  system  of  sounds  by 
which  men  in  the  hrst  instance s3mbolized 
to  the  outer  eye  the  inner  thoughts  of 
the  mind.  Here  is  the  matter  in  a  nutshell : 
In  the  tirst  place,  our  linguistic  ancestors 
agreed  overtly  or  tacitly  that  certain  fixed 
sounds  should  be  the  signs  of  certain  ideas; 
in  the  second  place,  as  the  need  came 
about,  our  linguistic  ancestors  agreed  that 
certain  fixed  marks  should  be  the  symbols 
of  those  fixed  sounds  which  they  had 
determined  should  represent  their  thoughts 
and  feelings. 

Why,  now,  you  ask,  do  these  black  marks 
— symbols  of  ideas — appear  not  only  in 
groups,  called  words,  but  also  in  larger 
groups,  called  sentences  and  paragraphs  ? 


^ 


g  i'Ki\<ii'i,r.s  OK  sTVi.i:. 

There    are    many    reasons    for    this:    the 
chief  reason   is  psyehoh)«j:ieal.      If   men's 
thou»;hts  were  merely  simple  or  unrelated 
ideas,  sinj^le  words  would  be  all-sutheient 
to  express  their  ideas.     But  men  have  ideas 
not  only  of  thinjjs,  but  also  of  relo/ioiis  be- 
tween thin«;s.     Suppose  that,  for  example, 
you  wished  to  say  to  another  person:  '  This 
is  the  «,dorious  Fourth  of  July,  let  us  decor- 
ate our  houses  with  the  American  tla^,  and 
sin«;  patriotic  son^s.'    If  you  had  only  sin^de 
words  to  express  simple  ideas,  but  had  noth- 
intj  to  express  the  relations  between  ideas 
and  between  thinjifs,  you  could  in  the  case  I 
have  taken  merely  ejaculate:  '  Fourth,-July, 
house,  America,  tla^',  sonj;.'    Your  attempt 
to  express  your  thoughts  and  feelings  to 
another  person  would  thus  have  ended  in  a 
stupid  stutter.     You  would  not  indeed  have 
expressed  all  the  most  important  matter, 
namely,  the  relations  between  the  single 
words  you  uttered.     Words,  then,  whether 
spoken  or  written,  are  grouped  into  sen- 
tences,  and    sentences    into    paragraphs, 


immm 


STVI.K   PKHNKl). 


this:    the 
If    men's 
•  unrcl.'itcd 
ll-sutficient 
have  ideas 
'/(itioiis  he- 
ir example, 
son:  'This 
.*t  us  deeor- 
\n  fla^,  and 
only  single 
It  had  nt)th- 
ween  ideas 
n  the  ease  I 
ourth,-July, 
)ur  attempt 

feelings  to 
i  ended  in  a 
indeed  have 
tant  matter, 
I  the  single 
en,  whether 
;d  into  sen- 
paragraphs, 


ehiefly  heeause  men's  thoughts  are  them- 
selves, as  they  exist  in  the  mind,  largely 
groups  of  'related'  ideas. 

What,  now,  in  the  fullest  sense,  is  style? 
In  external  appearanee  style  is  a  numher 
of    little    irregular   black   marks  grouped 
together  in  various  ways.  Thus  it  appears, 
as  I  said,  to  the  bodily  eye.      In  reality, 
however,    men    see  beyond    these    visible 
signs  to  the  meaning  of  them,  to  the  ideas 
they  suggest  or  represent.     This  is  the  real 
nature  and  use  of  style.      To  the  mental 
eye,  then,  prose  style  is  the  expression  of 
men's  thought  and  feeling   by  means  of 
written  words. )      '^\   i'-^^  ! 

The  Aim  and  Value  of  the  Practical 
Study  of  Style,— There  are  many  reasons, 
both  primary  and  secondary,  why  you 
should— or,  rather,  must— sometime  begin 
the  study  of  the  principles  of  writing  plain 
English  prose  style.  The  primary  reasons 
are  psychological  and  social;  the  secondary 
reasons  are  esthetic.  For  my  part,  I  shall 
here   consider   only   the   primary  reasons 


(fljBiw.^'ptJKiw-f  iJ'*w  ptm"! 


^ 


inMiM9**i|i 


r     1^ 


,0  I'KINC  I'M  r.S  Ol'  STVI.K. 

why  you  should  study  the  principles  ..f  the 
art  of  writinji  plain  prose  style(M.  Snue 
howeN  er,  you  are,  as  I  presume,  more  or 
less  ijrnorant  of  psyeholojjy,  I  sliall  put 
what  I  have  to  say,  as  plainly  as  possible. 
Tennyson,  the  British  poet,  concludes 
Canto  LIV  of  his  ///  Meinoriuni  with  this 
stan/a : 

"So  runs  my  .Iroim:  Imt  what  am  I? 
All  infant  crying  in  ihc  i\it;ht: 
An  infant  crying  for  ihe  linlit: 
.4,1,1 -oith  no  litiigiinU'^ '•"'" '''"y"^''^ 

Ask  yourself,  now,  these  questions:  First, 
what  is  it  to  be  an  infaiif,  and,  secondly, 


Ml    Th.-  m'condary  or  .enfMir  ■•.■u»ons  why  th«  Hlu.ly  of  tl..> 

:  ;;:;;r:;y  ;v.  -i:: ;'.  -....•..t  "o^  .n.,uu.t.v.  .n ui>u^.m.. 

:  ..n  Irn.  y  to  p«»  m>m  f.H/W/.«r.  that  Is.  to  <"'"»'""«•  l"';^ 

;„joy  l..arMln«   how  to  ...ak ..■at  s.-ntwu-e  or  a  tin.  ly  <  on 

"TT;r;'L..a. U.  »....., t.Uheyou.,KwHter 

te!,y.  youiiK  writtTH  should  never  Itallelzo. 


f-i^taiMW^^a*^  V^v.i«>^* 


Tlir.  STll'V  OK  STVl.K. 


It 


Ics  of  the 
).     Sin*.e 

moil.'  or 
sliull   put 

possible. 
;onclucles 
with  this 


ms:  First, 
secondly, 


w  Htuily  of  (In- 
|)liiin«-(l  111  iIk' 
my  do  Mils  III  a 
Ivtt  In  iiuiiikliid 
iip<inc,  iiiul  whut 
woini'n.tiikc  III 
4  tlio  iiiiiklii;ri)f 
lid  kIk' or  hi' not 
)r  a  Hnt'ly  <'oii- 

heyoui.K  writer 
words  1m  allow- 
1  to  teiwli!  and 
lally  t'lnplniHlz- 
III  utU'ndliiu  to 
iiiuit«^rof  I'oiir- 


what  would  be  the  result,  in  human  life,  if 
men  had  iit)/(iiininti»rhn/tt  rryf  1  anticipate 
your  answer.  An  'infant,'  you  say,  is  a 
'baby.'  1  have  told  you  in  another  part  of 
this  textbook  that  spoken  words  were  men's 
tirst  articulate  mode  of  e.\pressin<;  their 
ideas,  and  that,  in  due  time,  a  system  of 
-vriffi'ii  words  was  devised  b)  men  to  rep- 
resent the  ideas  conveyed  to  them  by  spoken 
words.  I«;norant  as  you  are  so  I  presume 
— of  the  etymology  of  the  Kurdish  Ian- 
^'uajje  you  seldom,  if  at  all,  know  what  is 
hiihh'ti  In'himi  the  -vritkii  word,  namely, 
the  idea  symbolized  by  the  spoken  word. 
Now  when  you  say  that  an  'infant'  is  a 
'baby,'  you  have  said  the  truth;  but  you 
do  not  realize  that  the  word  'baby'  was 
spoken  long  before  it  was  written;  that  the 
.so«;/r/'babv'  gives  the  real ///<'<////// 4'- of  the 
'd'l-ftteji  word,  'baby.'  A  baby  is  a  being 
that  in  attempting,  as  it  will,  to  tell  others 
what  it  thinks  or  how  it  feels— to  tell,  as 
it  must,  what  it  wants — can  express  its 
thoughts  and  feelings,  in  all  circumstances, 


-'ifcamwuutiay 


^ 


19 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STVLl".' 


; 

^1" 


only  by  the  sound  'ba,'  'ba/  or,  in  general, 
by  a  'cry'  of  some  sort.     A  baby,  that  is 
to  say,  is  a  being  which  tries  by  om  ami 
ihesame  audible  sign,  by  a  'cry,    to  tell 
others  how  it  feels  or  what  it  thinks  at 
(liferent  times,  in  diferenf  situations.    1  he 
baby, as  it  were, has  hxxione  word  to  express 
every  thought  and  feeling,  no  matter  how 
different  each  thought  and  feeling  may  be. 
The  result  is  that  no  on.  understands  what 
the  baby  is  trying  to  say.  The  child 'cries, 

and  its  parents  give  it  solid  food  when  really 
it  wants  drink;  the  child  cries  again,  and 
its  parents  attempt  to  put  it  asleep  when 
really  the  babe  is  hungry;  or  the  parents 
fondle  and  play  with  it  as  if  the  child  were 
lonely,  when  really  it  is  suffering  from  the 
heat  or  from  the  colic.     All  this  happens, 
however,  not  because  the  par'^nts  are  stupid, 
but  rather  because  the  baby  itself  has  only 
one   sound,  a   'cry,',  to    express  different 
ideas.     Practically  viewed,  the  child  thus 
says  nothing:  an  infant,  literally,  is  a  being 
that  cannot  speak  as  older  persons  speak, 


\y- 


THf:  STUDY  OF  STYLE. 


>3 


)r,  in  general, 
baby,  that  is 
;  by  one  and 
'cry,'  to  tell 
it  thinks  at 
tuations.  The 
ord  to  express 
[)  matter  how 
;eling  may  be. 
lerstands  what 
e  child  '  cries,' 
ad  when  really 
ies  again,  and 
t  asleep  when 
3r  the  parents 
the  child  were 
ering  from  the 
I  this  happens, 
f'-nts  are  stupid, 
;  itself  has  only 
press  different 
the  child  thus 
rally,  is  a  being 
persons  speak, 


a  being  that,  despite  its  cries,  says  tiotliiuo-. 

You  are  wondering  now,  no  doubt,  wh)' 

I  have  explained  in  great  detail  what  an 

infant  really  is.     I  have  been,  seemingly, 

over-explicit  in  this  matter  for  two  reasons. 

First,  I  wish  you  to  realize  vividly  that 

from  one  point  of  view   the  fundamental 

difference  between  children  and  men  is  a 

difference    in    power   of    speech.      In    the 

second  place,  I  wish  you  thus  to  see  that 

men,  despite  their  greater  size  and  strength, 

would— or  could — live  no  better  life  than 

do  children,  if  men  did  not  acquire  full  and 

ready  power  of  speech.     Without  adequate 

and    ready    means    of     expressing    their 

thoughts  and  feelings   men  would  fail  to 

live  better  than   the  beasts  of  the   field: 

human  life,  as  Hobbes  said  of  it  in  another 

reference,  would  be,  indeed,  "  solitary,  poor, 

nasty,  brutish,  and  short." 

You  may  no  longer  doubt,  I  am  per- 
suaded, the  absolute  value  of  possessing 
literary  power.  Without  this  power,  says 
a  great  teacher,  "all  other  human  faculties 


^ 


^^  PRINCIPLES  OF  STYl.K. 

are  maimed ....  So  mutually  dependent  are 
we  that  on  our  swift  and  full  communication 
with  one  another  is  staked  the  success  of 
every   scheme   we    form.      He    who  can 
explain  himself  may   command   what   he 
wants.    He  who  cannot  1  as,  e.g.,  the  /;//a;;/ 
cannot  I  is  left  to  the  poverty  of  individual 
resource;  for  men  do  what  we  desire  only 
when   persuaded.      The    persuasive    and 
explanatory  tongue  is,  therefore,  one  of  the 
chief  levers  of  life.'X*) 

For  your  own  part,  however,  you  may 
not  have  thought  of  this  matter  in  this  way. 
Rather,  in  your  opinion,  I  dare  say,  the 
possession  of  literary  power  is  merely  an 
^^accomplishment,'  valuable  and  admirable 
in  tht!  same  way  as  skill  in  playing  the 
pianoforte,  or  in  drawing  and  painting,  or 
in  writing  poetry-an  accomplishment,  but 
not  the  mighty  lever  of  li^e^^n>wopinu^ 

,.,    G  H  Palmer:  Sel/-CuHi.att.m  (n  EnaM-h.    Ev^'-J  y«"°« 

;r;rir:Sert':Vu;:r::::u.oci  o^  -m„«  piai«E„«iuh 

prose. 


THK  STUDY  OK  STYI.K. 


*l 


indent  are 
lunication 
success  of 
who  can 
what   he 
the  infant 
individual 
lesire  only 
isive    and 
one  of  the 

,  you  may 
n  this  way. 
e  say,  the 
merely  an 
admirable 
.laying  the 
)ainting,  or 
ihment,  but 
)ur  opinion, 


h.  Every  youni? 
sHiOuld  read  Pro- 
Its  thirty  piifjes 
iig  plain  English 


too,  I  believe,  the  chief  aim  of  the  study  of 
English  prose  style  is  to  make  one  expert 
in  transforming  the  'vulgar,'  /.  e.,  the  com- 
mon, simple,  idiomatic  language  of  daily 
life   into    'beautiful'    English   diction — b}- 
sacrificing  naturalness,  vigor,  vivacity,  and 
ease,  to  intricate  or  delicate   phrasing,  or 
to  metaphor,  poetical  quotations,  pedantic 
phraseology,  and,  as  it  is  called,  to  word- 
painting.     Let  me  tell  you  that  this  is  not 
at  all  an  aim  of  the  study  of  prose  style. 
Undoubtedly  a  proper  aim  of  such  study 
is  to  teach  one  to   write  with  beauty,  as 
well  as  with  clearness  and  power.     The 
true    beauty    of  prose    style,    however,    is 
nothing  else  than  the  beauty  of  ivell -ordered 
words,  sentences,  and  paragraphs,  whether 
it  be  in  a  learned  treatise,  a  novel,  a  short 
story,  an  essay,  a  newspaper  editorial,  or  a 
business  letter.     The  chief  aim,  then,  of  the 
practical  study  of  prose  style  is  to  aid  one 
in   becoming   expert    in    expressing   ade- 
quately   one's    thoughts   and    feelings   by 
means  of  written  words,  rightly  chosen  and 


';5SB(BBBISSIRlE^iSSFP15 


^ 


! 


^  PKlNCirLi:S  OF  STYLK. 

nature  of  st>  le,  an  ^^^^  ^^  ^^ 

•::r:r;rLnwo,a.  ..-y^^- 
,„ay  your  fear  Somepe  ^  ^^^ 
natural  aptitudes  for  wr  tms  v 

thepmno-forte  ort  ^^^„,  js  abso- 

athletic  games    No  one^^     ^^  _^^^_^  ^^^  ,„ 
lutely  devmd  of  the  pow  _^^^^^_.^ 

«"r''"''".h:?tma;  be  made  very  hard 
to  be  sure,  the  tasK  ma>  teacher, 

.uherhythepu^— ;;;;|;>j„^^,„^.„ 

:rrXp-Msas.lth..^^^^^^^^^^^ 

rotrhrsf^"-"---'""-^- 


Tin:  MKTHOI)  OF  STUDY. 


(1  whole.  ' 

Study  of   _ 
ok.-You        J 

ibout   the 
;   absolute 
)rose  style, 
.ether  you 
)me  expert 
feeling  by 
may    be, 
jryou.  Put 
indeed  have 
prose  style, 
for  playing 
louses,  or  for 
:ver,  is  abso- 
learn  how  to 
1  this  matter, 
.de  ver,y  hard 
y  the  teacher, 
ning  how  to 
i  learning  how 
earty  resolve 
,  careful  heed- 


ing the  instruction  given  one,  perseverance, 
and  systematic  endeavor  are  soon  effective 
in  making  one  a  master  of  plain  prose  style. 
In  nothing  else  indeed  is  "straight  work" 
more  effective.     Straight  work,  however, 
does  not  mean  brute  labor.     If,  therefore, 
you  doubt  your  own  aptitude  for  learning 
to  write  plain  English  prose,  and  thus  fear 
a  necessity  of  an  immense  amount  of  toil 
on  your  part  before  you  gain  a  mastery  of 
prose  style,  you  may  put  aside  your  doubts 
and  fears.     The  gaining  of  a  mastery  of 
simple,  idiomatic  English  prose  style,  let 
me  assure  you,  is  a  matter  neither  of  apti- 
tude nor  of  brute  labor.     You  must  indeed 
have  common  intelligence  and  you  must 
perform  at  least  an   average   amount   of 
straight  work.  This  granted,  the  acquiring 
of  literary  power  is  almost  wholly  a  matter 
of  method. 

As  to  methods  of  gaining  a  mastery  of 
plain  English  prose  style,  there  are  but  two 
that  can  be  at  all  effective  and  in  my  opin- 
ion, only  one  of  these  two  that  can  be  really 


^^pi.flflPSJM^!f*«««»'^ 


tWMI»<«»Jt^fc'.W.W^'J'»i'-r'J''V 


-v^^M^^^i^' 


/^ 


PK1NCIP1.KS  OF  STYLK. 

or  easily  eWective.      Let  me  first,  explain 
each  of  these   methods,  and,   then,   state 
which  one  1  shall  employ  in  this  textbook. 
The  two  methods  of  which  I  shall  here 
treat  I  shall  name-the  method  of  Im.tafon 
and   the    method   of    Original    Compos,- 
tion.     Both  of  these,  no  doubt,  for  the  sake 
of  efficacy   demand  on   the   part   of   the 
tdent  original  writing.     The  firs,,  how- 
ever,  can  demand  only  that  the  '  substance 
of  what  is  written  be  original;  the  'form 
must  be  a  direct  imitation  of  the  manner 
of  another's  writing.     The  second  method 
demands  that  both  the  substance  and  the 
form  of  what  one  writes  be  strictly  ongma, 
absolutely  one's  own.    '  ha™,  therefa.  , 
named  the  latter  the  method  of  Ongmal 
Composition.     It  is  not  hard  to  •.ndej.tar.d 
the  nature  of  these  two  methods,  or  to  rate 
their  practical  worthC).    Samuel  Johns™, 

Sclf-CuIMwi«(on  in  Bnc'toh.  PP.  ^^ 


^ 


THE  MKTHOl)  OF  STUDY. 


'9 


,  explain 
:n,   state 
extbook. 
lall  here 
[mitation 
Composi- 
r  the  sake 
t   of   the 
irst,  how- 
ubstance ' 
tie  'form' 
e  manner 
id  method 
:e  and  the 
y  original, 
therefore, 
f  Original 
understand 
i,  or  to  rate 
el  Johnson, 


mie  and  Bnottoh 
e  Part»  of  BnflWh 
.  I,  and  Palmer'* 


himself    a    great    writer  of  English  prose 
style,  explicitly  recommends  the  method  of 
Imitation.     "Whoever  wishes,"  he  says  in 
closing   his    Life  of   Addison— "  whoever 
wishes  to  attain  an  English  style,  familiar 
but  not  coarse,  and  elegant  but  not  osten- 
tatious, must  give  his  days  and  nights  to 
the  volumes  of  Addison."   Thus,  too,  Ben- 
jamin Franklin,  a  great  American  stylist, 
by  his  own  example  as  well  as  by  his  suc- 
cess in  attaining  an  excellent  English  style, 
recommends    the    method    of    Imitation. 
"About  this  time,"  says  he  in  his  Autobi- 
ography, "  I  met  with  an  odd  volume  of 
the  Spectator.  I  had  never  before  seen  any 
of  them.  I  bought  it,  read  it  over  and  over, 
and  was  much  delighted  with  it.    I  thought 
the  writing  excellent,  and  wished  if  possible 
to  imitate  it.     With  that  view  I  took  some 
of  the  papers,  and  making  short  hints  of 
the  sentiments  in  each  sentence,  laid  them 
by  a  few  days,  and  then,  without  looking 
at  the  book,  tried  to  complete  the  papers 
again,  by  expressing  each  hinted  sentiment 


^ 


r" 


20 


TRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLE. 


at  length,  and  as  fully  as  it  had  been 
expressed  before,  in  any  suitable  words  that 
should  occur  to  me.  I  then  compared  my 
Spectator  with  the  original,  discovered 
some  of  my  faults,  and  corrected  them." 

Skill,  then,  in  writing  prose  style— ac- 
cording to  the  advocates  of  the  method  of 
Imitation— is  to  be  attained  by  a  constant 
reading  of  the  works  of  reputable  writers 
and  by  a  patient  and  careful  reproducmg 
of  the  form  of  their  prose  style.     In  this 
way  the  would-be  stylist  will,  in  due  time, 
acquire  the  knack  or  the  habit  of  expressing 
naturally  his  own  thoughts  and  feeling  m 
the  diction,  idiom,  syntax,  sentential  struc- 
ture and   rhythm,  or   what  not,  of  some 
master  of  prose  style. 

While  this  method  may  be  thought  to  be 
excellent  and  effective  enough,  it  cannot 
be  with  any  success  a  universal  method, 
if  indeed  it  can  be  a  method  at  all.  It 
demands  from  the  student  of  style  a  too 
high  degree  of  intelligence  and  a  too  great 
amount   of  labor,  both  in  reading  and  m 


""v-jIW 


^ 


THE  MKTHOl)  OF  STUOY, 


•t 


had  been 
vords  that 
pared  my 
liscovered 

them." 
style — ac- 
method  of 
fi  eonstant 
(le  writers 
;producing 
e.     In  this 

due  time, 
expressing 
i  feeHng  in 
;ntial  struc- 
it,  of  some 

[jught  to  be 
,  it  cannot 
al  method, 
at  all.  It 
style  a  too 
a  too  great 
ling  and  in 


writing.      That  the  method  of   Imitation 
by    these    very    demands    cannot   be   the 
universal   method  is  a  fatal  objection  to 
it.       Let   me,  however,  summarize  some 
general  objections.     Because,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  we  do,  in  the  first  instance,  acquire 
our  diction,  grammar,  and  idiom  by  imitat- 
ing others,  and  because  imitation  of  anoth- 
er's prose  style  has  been  recommended  by 
great  authorities  as  an  excellent  and  effective 
method  of  learning  to  write  prose  style,  and, 
seemingly,  has  actually  been  found  to  be 
such,  the  advocates  of  the  method  of  imita- 
tion virtually  conclude  that  another  method 
cannot  be  more  excellent  or  effective.  This 
is  bad  logic.    Again:    Those  who  recom- 
mend imitation  as  the  surest  way  of  ac- 
quiring a  mastery  of  style  ask  us  —at  least 
the  most  of  us— to  move  along  the  line  of 
the  greatest  intellectual  resistance.     This 
is  bad  psychology.   Finally,  the  advocates 
of  the  method  of  imitation  practically  assert 
not  only  that  there  is  no  royal  road  to  learn- 
ing how  to  write  good  style,  but  also  that, 


iiiittiiliin»Wft»''*' 


^ 


H' 


aa 


PKINC'IIM.KS  OF  STYLK. 


* 


at  least  with  themselves,  there  eternally 
shall  not  he  one.  This  is  had  pedagogy.  It 
is  the  duty  of  the  teacher  of  English  prose 
composition  to  discover  and  apply  the  least 
difficult  method  consistent  with  general 
effectiveness.  That  there  is  a  much  less 
difficult  or  cumbersome  method  and  at  the 
same  time  a  much  more  effective  one  than 
that  of  Imitation  cannot,  in  view  of  the 
experience  of  many  teachers  and  of  all 
writers,  be  doubted. 

The  method  of  Original  Composition 
has  nothing  to  recommend  it  except  its 
highly  practical  character.  First,  let  psy- 
chology show  that  Original  Composition  is 
naturally  fitted  to  be  the  /////r-rrw/ method. 
Demanding  for  its  success,  as  it  does,  only 
common  intelligence  and  no  more  than  an 
average  degree  of  straight  work,  it  is  a 
method  that  so  far  as  plain  prose  style  is 
concerned  can  in  the  hands  of  a  sympathetic 
and  competent  teacher  be  as  effective  with 
children  as  with  adults.(')     This  method, 

( I  •    See  Ell/.^)^i^m^l«il>^K^T»i«  ProWem ../  rXtmtyAatv  Com- 


i«  tjiriitrft/- 


THE  METHOD  OF  STUDY. 


n 


ternally 

>Ky-  It 
h  prose 
he  least 
general 
uch  less 
d  at  the 
>ne  than 
r  of  the 
1   of  all 

(position 
:cept  its 
:,  let  psy- 
:)sition  is 
method. 
[)es,  only 
:  than  an 
:,  it  is  a 
e  style  is 
ipathetic 
tive  with 
i  method, 

tmentatv  Com- 


however,  could  not  be  such  as  it  is  if  it  did 
not  have  a  sound  basis  in  the  nature  of  the 
human  mind.    Those  who  adopt  and  apply 
the  method  of  Original  Composition  do  not 
suppose  that  there  is  in  the  universe  only 
mt/t(/.     Rather,  they  know  that  there  are 
minds:  and  that  these  minds  differ  in  all 
sorts  of  ways.     They  know,  too,  that  these 
minds  are  not  by  nature  mere  receptacles 
of  wood  and  stone,  but  that,  from  the  very 
beginning  of  their  existence,  are  unceasingly 
active  powers,  early  showing  a  tendency  to 
create  or  construct.  Even  the  infant's  'ba,' 
'ba,'  and  other  'cries'  are  creative  acts. 
Still  more,  human  minds  take  delight  in 
their  own  activity,  in  creating  or  construct- 
ing.    In  many  things,  no  doubt,  they  must 
at  first  imitate  others;  but  they  would  not 
imitate  at  all,  if  they  did  not  have  naturally 


VDtiUim,  whtch  aloiiK  with  Professor  Piiluier's  atlf-Cuitivaiion  in 
EnoXith  should  he  In  the  hands  of  every  younK  teacher  of  En>f- 
llshroinposltloii.  Both  little  books  are  an  Inspiration:  they 
make  a  seemluKly  dull  business  appear  a  delightful  and  noble 
task. 


^ 


PKlNriPlKS  OF  STYLK. 


a  tendency  to  be  active  -creative,  or  con- 
structive.(') 

The  method  of  Oripnal  Composition  is 
based  on    those   simple    but    fundamental 
facts  of  psychology  which  I  have  just  stated 
above.     If  imitation,  the  advocates  of  this 
method    say,  is  not  really   so  much  pure 
imitation  as  it  is  a  mode  of  oripnal  crea- 
tion, if  we  all  must  by  repeated  efforts  learn 
to  do  well  what  we  attempt  to  do  at  all,  and, 
if  even  from  childhood,  we   take  delight 
in    creating    and    constructing— then    the 
natural    method    of    gaining    a    mastery 
of  prose  style  must  be  as  far  as  possible 
one  of  original  composition.     The  method, 
in  short,  of  attaining  a  clear  and  vigorous, 
if  plain,  prose  style  is  one   which  works 
"/e,v\  by  imitation  than   by  repeated  and 
Tvell -directed  e forts  to  'vrite  down  on  paper 
precisely  the  ihou^rhts  thai  are  in  our  minds. 


(1)  ThB  teachiT  should  ri-iid  .Iukk-h  rniiehnlivii:  Briefer 
Ci»in>e,  num.  XXIIt.  pp.  470-471.  iind  Chitp.  XXVI.  pp.  415-»1«.  In 
order  to  iH'  iililu  to  o.xpliiln  mori- fully  tht>  pHyfliolojry  of  thi" 
mctliodof  ()rl«lmil  (•ompositlon  and  to  lllustriite  the  psycho- 
loKloul  fu  t. 


Till.  MKTIIOU  i)F  STUDY. 


»i 


ive,  or  con- 

nposition  is 
iindamental 
c  just  stated 
■ates  of  this 
much  pure 
iginal  crea- 
efforts  learn 
oat  all, and, 
ake  delight 
— then    the 
a    mastery 
as  possible 
rhe  method, 
nd  vigorous, 
^hich  works 
epeated  and 
wn  Oft  paper 
'n  our  minds. 


For  It  is  not  expression  that  should  govern 
our  thou<,'hts,  but  thou^'ht  expression,  and 
//  is  h\  constantly  conipariiio  our  ideas 
•L'itli  our  expression  of  them  and  sliiftiniy 
the  form  of  our  expression  until  it  fits  the 
tmly  of  our  thought  that  we  shall  ^roiv 
most  surely,  even  if  not  most  rapidly(  ? ), 
/■//  the  art  which  we  are  studyinii.'\  ' ) 

Ap'iin:  Since  the  slightest  psychology, 
as  we  have  seen,  has  shown  that  the  method 
of  Original  Composition  naturall}'  is  fitted 
to  be  the  universal  method  of  acquiring  a 
mastery  of  prose  style,  let  now  the  experi- 
ence of  all  writers  show  that  this  method 
actually  is  the  only  universal  one. 

To  put  the  matter  simply  and  convinc- 
ingly I  shall  begin  with  speech.  The  very 
first  more  or  less  articulate  utterance  of  a 
child  is  an  effort  in  original  composition. 
I  am  not  here  in  the  least  straining  a  point 


1^ 


"mirhoUmu:  liilefer 
XVI.  pp.415-ttll.ln 
■  pHjrL'liolovty  of  th<' 
sti'iitc  till-  psycho- 


it)  G.  K.  Carpcntt'r:  ExerrUes  in  Hhetorte  and  VompogitUm, 
Chap.  I.  Tlif  ItallCH  and  the<iuery  In  tim  text  urn  mini'.  I'ro- 
ffssorCarpciiter  si'iMiis  to  doubt  whether  this  uiev'.hod  Is  the 
most  rapid  In  attalnlnifltsend.  For  my  own  part  I  btdlevethut 
It  Is  both  the  surest  and  the  must  rapid. 


mtiHk 


mmimim 


^ 


36  PRINCIIM.ES  OF  STYLK. 

of  view,  or  playing  with  words.(')     The 
chilcVs  first  more  or  less  articulate  utter- 
ance is  an  effort  to  make  a  definite  sound. 
This  effort   on  the  chikVs  part  to  make 
precisely  the  sound  which  in  its  own  dumb 
way  the  child  has  in  mind— this  effort  to 
speak-\s  really  an  attempt  to  combme  or 
'compose'  certain  movements  of  the  lips, 
tongue,    palate,   and   so  on,  into  a  single 
movement    that    will    produce   the  sound 
desired.     Only  after  repeated  efforts,  how- 
ever, does  the  child  acquire  the  power  of 
articulating  or  pronouncing  correctly.     In 
the  same  way  as  you  yourself  have  learned, 
say,  to  hold  and  use  a  knife  and  fork  at  the 
dining  table,  or  to  write  with  a  pen,  or  to 
thread  a  needle,  so  a  child  learns  to  speak 
(articulate):  first,  by  actually  making  some 


(1)    Hinoc  humui.  speech  as  such  Is  one  of  man's  inrenMom.. 

"rJciou^ne.*,  Essay  IX  in  his  Studies  of  «'^'^««^^«^  J;^^,^'/, 
pllchoKm  and  the  Argument  from  De»U,n  In  the  Philosophical 
Review  for  Nov..  1888,  pp.  608^510. 


THK  MKTHODOl-'  STUDY. 


a? 


rds.(')  The 
iculate  utter- 
2tinite  sound. 
)art  to  make 
its  own  dumb 
this  effort  to 
[O  combine  or 
ts  of  the  lips, 

into  a  single 
ce  the  sound 
i  efforts,  how- 

the  power  of 
correctly.  In 
f  have  learned, 
and  fork  at  the 
h  a  pen,  or  to 
earns  to  speak 
y  making  some 


le  of  man's  invention*. 
The  acquiring  of  thl« 
n  the  point  of  view  of 
See  James'  Pxydwhtgy: 
[oyce's  OriflitKiMd/  and 
iwid  and  Evil.  Cf .  my 
1  In  the  Philosophical 


sort   of  sound   more  or  less  like  the  one 
in  mind;  then,  by  discovering  in  some  way 
that    it    has   failed  to    speak    correctly— 
that,  e.o-.,  'oo,'  is  not  'you,'  that  'boo'  is 
not  'cow,'  or  that  'dod'  is  not  God;  finally, 
by  revising  its  manner  of  articulating  or 
pronouncing,  until  the  child  can  say,  so  far  as 
sound  is  concerned,  just  what  it  means  to 
say.     Note,  then,  the  first  and  third  stages 
of  this  process:  the  orijyinal  composition 
in  movements  or  in  sounds,  and  the  revision 
of  these.    The  revisions  are  not  arbitrary: 
they  are  corrections  of  the  child's  broken 
speech — corrections  according  to  the  stand- 
ard which  the  child  adopts  from  its  elders, 
as  the  standard  of  proper  articulation  or 
pronunciation. 

With  original  compositions,  too,  a  child 
begins  its  grammar,  idiom,  and  its  forming 
of  sentences.  At  first  these  are  just  as  futile 
or  faulty  as  its  articulation.  But,  as  for- 
merly, at  its  own  instance  or  at  the  instance 
of  its  parents  and  teachers  the  child  daily 
revises  its  grammar  and  idiom,  according 


^ 


/- 


2S 


PRINCU'LKS  OF  STYLK. 


to  the  standard  of  reputable  usage,  until  by 
the  time  the  child  has  grown  to  youth  it 
has  learned  to  speak  correctly.  Note, 
then,  in  these  higher  matters  of  diction, 
grammar,  and  idiom  the  two  stages  of 
original  composition  and  of  revision  accord- 
ing to  a  standard. 

In  still  higher  matters,  in  prose  composi- 
tion as  such,  the  process  of  acquiring  liter- 
ary power  must  have  the  same  two  stages: 
original  efforts  in  writing  prose  and  repeat- 
ed  revisions   of  what    is    written,    until   a 
mastery  of  style  is  secured.     I  am  not  here 
putting  a  theory:  I  am  stating  a  brute  fact. 
For  in  one  form  or  in  another  this  is  the 
actual  process  of  writing  prose,  whether 
the  writer  be  a  tyro  or  a  great  stylist.     In 
one  way  or  in  another — wholly  in  the  mind 
or  on  paper,  or  partly  in  the  mind  and 
partly  on  paper— all  writers,  first,  outline 
or  flan  both  the  general  substance  and  the 
form  of  any  particular  subject  that  they 
purpose  treating;  secondly,  what  they  have 
thus  outlined  they  expand  ox  develop  into  a 


n 
r 
c 
1( 
a 
a 
\ 
1 


JSa. 


thb:  methoi>  ok  study. 


m- 


ntil  by 
luth  it 
Note, 
liction, 
y;es  of 
iccord- 

imposi- 
g  liter- 
stages: 
repeat- 
until  a 
ot  here 
ite  fact. 
s  is  the 
/hether 
1st.     In 
le  mind 
nd  and 
oittline 
and  the 
at  they 
ey  have 
p  into  a 


more  or  less  rough  whole;  and  finally,  they 
revise  or  reconstruct,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples and  usages  of  style,  the  form  and 
length  of  their  sentences  and  paragraphs, 
and  the  details  of  their  diction,  grammar, 
and  idiom,  in  order  to  make  the  total  of 
what  they  have  written  a  perfect  or  finished 

■whole. (^) 

You  may  remember  my  saying  above 
(p.  2i)  that  the  method  of  Imitation  would 
have  one  who  seeks  to  acquire  a  mastery 
of  style  to  proceed  along  the  line  of  greatest 
intellectual  resistance.     You  may  now  see 
that  my  statement  is  true.      The  method 
of  Imitation  would  have  a  writer  perform 
at  one  and  the  same  time  the  outlining,  the 
developing,  and  the  revising  of  what  one 
is  writing.      Trained  or  expert  writers,  to 
be  sure,  seemingly  at  one  and  the  same 
time  do  at  least  outline  and  develop  what 


,1)  see  Wendell-s  K«(/K*h  0»mp<.8«f.....  pp.  US.  IKUM:  Herrtck 
&  n,  mon's0.mp<.«Ht....«ml  Rh^loric.  Chap.  H   .  P"!"";';;  ^'f" 

Bmmu  PP.  T-8;  Ha.nerton's  T/.«  ^"'f"^*,'"  „^f '  ^'''^  "' ^' 
and  XI,  aud  Balnton's  Arl  of  Axithwmp.  Chap.  I. 


i:.fl;f-rii"Ti¥r"-^'°^- 


^ 


30  CKIN'CIPLF.S  OF  STYI.K. 

they  have  to  say.     Certainly,  too,  after  due 
traininj^,  these  can  be  thus  more  or  less  read- 
ily done.   But  the  jijenius,  as  well  as  the  tyro, 
must  go   to    infinite  pains   in   the   matter 
of  revision,  before  what  either  of  the  two 
has  written  becomes  a  perfect  or  finished 
whole.    The  method  of  Imitation,  therefore, 
if  it  be  not  wholly  an  impossible  or  abortive 
method,  is  at  least  highly  cumbersome  and 
unpractical.     The  true  method  of  acquir- 
ing a  mastery    of    prose    style    must    be 
identical  with  the  natural  method — /.  e., 
with  the  method  universally  used  by  writers 
in  actually  composing.     As  the  method  of 
Original  Composition  is  the  only  one  really 
used  in  the  actual  writing  of  prose,  so  must 
it  be  also  the  only  natural  or  true  method 
of  teaching  one  how  to  write. 

To  aid  you  in  becoming  expert— or  at 
least  much  more  expert  than  you  are  at 
present— in  writing  plain  English  prose 
style,  I  shall  in  this  textbook  employ  the 
method  of  Original  Composition.  I  shall 
employ  this  method  somewhat  as  follows: 


te 

y< 

ar 

le 
m 

y 

O! 

e' 
h 
it 
it 
n 

/. 
/ 
> 


^ 


CiUaSi^s 


er  due 
IS  read- 
e  tyro, 
matter 
he  two 
inished 
;refore, 
bortive 
me  and 
acquir- 
ust    be 
— /.  e., 
writers 
thod  of 
e  really 
;o  must 
method 

— or  at 
are  at 

1  prose 

)loy  the 
I  shall 

follows: 


THE  METHOD  OF  STUDY. 


s» 


I  shall  have  you  write  Whole  Compositions, 
technically  called    Themes.      I  shall  have 
you  write,  that  is  to  say,  short  essays  on 
any  subject  of  which  you  have  a  more  or 
less    ready    knowledge;    chiefly    on   such 
matters  of  daily  life  as  you  talk  about  to 
your  fellows  on  the  street,  in  your  home, 
or  in  the  schoolroom.     This  will  give  you 
every  chance  to  write  readily.     After  you 
have  written  your  theme,  I  shall  criticize 
it  in  as  human  and  happy  a  way  as  possible, 
in  order  to  convince  you  that  your  theme 
may  be  improved  by  revision. 

My  first  task,  then,  is  to  show  you  Ji07V 
to  outline  or  phvi  the  general  substance  and 
form  of  a  theme.    My  second  task  is  to  show 
you,  after  you  have  expanded  or  developed, 
your  outline  into  a  Whole  Composition, 
what  are  the  principles  of  style  according 
to  -which  you  must  revise  your  themes,  so  as 
to  perfect  the  quantity  and  quality  of  your 
paragraphs  and  sentences,  and  to  make  as 
correct  and  expressive  as   possible   your 
irrammar,  idiom,  and  diction.    Your  first 


iii1iiril'Tit«1itifl   i]\fmr,M  r 


/^ 


;:a>;a:fe^Vi^v■iiii^a,i:^^^^.i^.^ui't.«»v?ii??^Viff^ 


r 


32 


PUIXCIPLKS  OF  STVLK. 


task  is  to  express — more  or  less  pell-mell — 
your  thought  and  feeling  in  an  original 
theme.  Your  second  task  is  to  apply 
siiiiply  and  solely  in  revision  your  know- 
ledge of  the  principles  and  rules  of  writing 
prose  style  to  making  your  original  com- 
position a  perfect  and  finished  whole.(') 

I  have  dwelt  at  length  on  these  matters 
of  the  nature  and  use  of  style  and  the 
method  of  acquiring  a  mastery  of  it,  that 
you  may  be  induced  to  pursue  it  willingly 
and  eagerly,  and  in  the  same  way  as  those 
who  actually  possess  a  mastery  of  prose 
style,  and  that  you  may  know  your  success 
is  .assured,  if  you  are  brave,  heedful,  and 


(1)  This  Indeed  Is  the  method  of  piOKreMS  in  any  art:  a  more 
or  less  rouKh  and  ready  creatliiK  of  a  whole,  and  then— not  till 
then— a  perfecting  of  this  roujih  whole,  accordInK  to  principles 
of  tcchni(|iie.  For  verlHctttion,  or  Illustration  of  the  fact,  wit- 
ness the  painter's 'sketches'  and  'studies'  made  In  the  field  or 
studio,  the  poefsor  novelist's  first  •  drifts.'  or  the  musician's 
'experiments'  In  moti/«.  In  'developments'  of  themes,  and  In 
harmonies.  The  teacherof  English  ConuKwItlon  must  not  be  led 
astray  In  this  matter  by  the  fact  that,  e.  p.,  an  apprentice  to  a 
housebuUder  does  not  learn  his  trade  by  first  building  a  whole 
house,  and  then  reconstructing  It.  In  theory  he  should  so  learn 
his  trade;  but  he  Is  prevented  from  doing  so  by  the  heavy 
materials  he  deals  with,  the  cost  of  these,  the  large  size  of  his 
structure,  and  the  demand  for  quick  construction. 


^ 


iit>ii^.'*c:'^sm 


mell — 
iriginal 
app/y 
know- 
ivriting 
;1  com- 

e-C) 
natters 

nd  the 

it,  that 

ilHngly 

IS  those 

f  prose 

success 

ul,  and 


irt:  a  more 
5n— not  tin 
principles 
e  fact,  wit- 
the  field  or 
niuslclan'H 
les,  and  in 
t  not  be  led 
■entice  to  u 
tng  aichole 
lid  80  learn 
the  heavy 
size  of  his 


TIIK  MKTHOl)  OK  STUDY.  33 

persistent.  If  your  own  heart  is  right,  and 
the  method  by  which  you  arc  instructed  is 
sane  and  practical,  no  human  employment 
is  more  free  and  calculable  than  the  win- 
ning of  full  and  ready  literary  power. 


/^ 


m 


■^teiwHWiiiMwJi  fflii 


.-.^,-^„^f-.-»-r^-^i»g»«r«'?4W»>l,fe'-^aa:; 


< 


CHAPTER  II. 

THIC  KITNDAMENTAI,  ASPECT  OF  I'ROSE  STYLE:  THE  DIFFEK- 
EXCES  HETWEEN  SPEECH  AM>  WRITTEN  COMPOSITION. 
—THE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  A  THEME:  PARTS  AND  PRIN- 
CIPLES.—THE  ABSTRACT  CONSTRUCTION  OF  A  THEME.— 
THE  CONCREIE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  A  THEME:  AN  APPLI- 
CATION OF  PRINCIPLES  TO  ORIGINAL  COMPOSITION  AND 
ro  REVISION. 

The  Fundamental  Aspect  of  Prose  Style; 
Substance  and  Form.— In  your  opinion,  I 
have  no  doubt,  the  acquiring  of  a  mastery 
of  prose  style  is  altogether  a  matter  of 
acquiring  soiiiefhiuir  to  write.  In  your 
opinion,  he  is  a  good  stylist  who  can  write 
rapidly  and  readily  on  any  subject.  You 
are  deceiving  yourself:  a  study  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  style  will  not  in  the  least  help  you 
to  say — or  to  write — anything  more  than 
you  can  naturally  express  in  speech.  If  the 
question  of  what,  or  how  much,  to  write 
were  the  problem  of  prose  style,  would  not 
a  great  stylist  be  one  who  could  write  a 
great  deal  on  any  subject  ?    Judged  by  such 


: 


^ 


DIFFKK- 
OSITION. 
ND  l-RIN- 

HEME. — 
N  AIM'LI- 
■lON  AND 


;  Style; 
nion,  I 
lastery 
tter  of 
1  your 
1  write 
You 
le  prin- 
elp  you 
'e  than 
If  the 
o  write 
»uld  not 
write  a 
by  such 


r-<.ii«l»l   ,    ■    mMlfilHii.'  i»Y<^     ■"^"     ."    II    -', 


i^^ii     <Mi!|i.i  )IIH  I    fii  '  L'f^ 


SUBSTANCE  AND  FORM. 


»> 


a  standard,  the  only  great  stylists  would  be 
our  'newspaper  reporters.' 

Consider  the  question  from  another,  but 
allied,  point  of  view— say,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  house-building.      Why,  e.  jr.,  do 
we  call  one  house-builder  simply  a  'carpen- 
ter '  or  a  '  joiner,'  while  we  call  another  an 
'  architect,'  as  if  the  latter  term  were  more 
dignified  ?    In  suhstonce  there  is  really  no 
difference  between  a  'hut,'  a   'log-cabin,' 
a '  dwelling-house,'  and  a  '  palace.'     There 
is,  however,  a  great  difference  in  struditre, 
or,  as  all  artists  call  it,  in  /o/'w.  An  'arch- 
itect,' therefore,  as  distinguished   from  a 
mere  house-builder— from  a  'carpenter'  or 
a  I  joiner'— is  one  who  in  building  anything, 
cares  immensely  for  the  form  or  structure 
of  it  as  sucli :  who  aims  at  constructing 
what  shall  be  not  only  serviceable,  but  also 
excellent  or  beautiful  in  its  very  structure.^) 


(1)  The  teacher  of  Etittllsh  Composition  should  fully  explain 
and  illustrate  this  n.attepof  structure.  One  may  do  so  simply, 
as  is  n.y  own  custom  In  the  classroon..  by  showinR  how  structure 
Is  a  matter  of  the  relcUioiu,  of  parts  In  a  whole,  and  by  using  for 
Illustration  Latin  prose,  music,  and  drawing.  Since  Latin  Is  an 


^ 


:-y.f  ■'■-^-■■:-'^-^^-»>-<f^»' 


3« 


PRINCII'LKS  OK  STYLK. 


While,   to    be    sure,   the    materials    with 
which  an  architect  builds  must  count  for 
something,'  in  the  total  excellence  or  beauty 
of  what  is  built,  the  fundamental  question 
an  architect  has  in  mind  is  this:    Given 
certain    materials    how    should    a   house, 
palace,  or  what  not,  be  built— how  should 
the  material.,  be  composed,  constructed,— 
so  as  to  be  serviceable,  and   beautiful  to 
behold  ?     It  is,  in  short,  with  the  architect 
a  question  altogether  of  composition.  Only 
in  the  matter  of  composition  can  one  arch- 
itect differ  from  another,  or  show  power 
of  architectural  style. 

In  substance  speech  does  not  differ  from 
written  composition.  What  is  called  '  writ- 
ten discourse '  is  only  '  spoken  discourse ' 

lnflocte<l  laiiKUiiK.'  one  can  show  the  nicety  or  Deiiuty  of  the 
rehitlons  In  a  peitoa  of  Cicero  as  compared  with  those  In  a 
Dorlod  of  I.ivy  or  of  Ciwsar.  Or.  one  can  sh<nv  how  the  melody  of 
any  popuUir  sons  or  hymn  has  a  definite  structure;  how  It  has  a 
•  then.e  •  or  musical  Idea,  expressed  In  a  musical  period,  the  first 
clause  of  which  Is  an  Imperfect  cadence,  and  the  second  a  per- 
fect cadence;  the  whole  of  which  Is  thus  seen  to  make  musical 
sense.  Or,  one  can  show  how  any  drawlnK  of  a  human  face  Is 
composed  of  a  number  of  little  straight  lines,  and  how  the  dif- 
ference In  faces  Is  hut  a  matter  of  the  arrangement  of  these 
lines. 


\ 


/^ 


'ift:!*-^''" 


with 
it  for 
L-auty 
jstion 
jiven 
louse, 
hould 
fed,— 
ful  to 
hitect 
Only 
arch- 
power 

-  from 
'  writ- 
ourse ' 

ty  of  the 
liosu  ill  II 

iielody  of 
)w  It  has  u 
1,  the  first 
and  u  pflr- 
t!  musical 
an  face  Is 
w  the  dlf- 
t  of  these 


|i 


SUHSTANCK  AND  FORM. 


37 


ivritteii  down  on  paper.     Practically  viewed 
(,ne  cannot  write  down  on  paper  what  one 
cannot  speak.     The  reason  is  plain:  if  one 
have  no  ideas  to  '  voice,'  one  really  has  no 
ideas  at  all;  and  if  one  have  no  ideas  to 
'voice,'  much  less,  obviously,  can  one  have 
ideas   to  'write.'     The  problem  of  prose 
style,  therefore,  is  not  a  question  regardinji 
what    one  shall  write,  or  how  one  shall  ' 
obtain  ideas  to  express  in  written  words. 
If  one  can  speak,  then  one  can  write— so  far 
as    substance    is   concerned:    for  one   has 
only  to  write  down  on  paper  the  thought 
and  feelings  one  is  every  hour  expressing 
in  one's  '  talk '  on  the  street,  in  the  home,  in 
the  schoolroom,  or  elsewhere. 

Your  speech,  you  must  now  see,  supplies 
you  with  the  materials  (or  substance)  of 
your  written  compositions.  It  supplies, 
however,  only  the  matei:ials  of  prose  style. 
For  speech,  Just  because  it  usually  is  hap- 
hazard or  desultory,  never  has,  never  can 
have  nice  or  t^ne  structure,  or,  as  it  is  called, 
literary  form.      This  will  be  obvious,  if 


/^ 


3S 


PRI\riPI.F,S  OK  STYLK 


you  consider  the  characteristic  differences 
between  ordinary  'conversation'  and,  say, 
a  '  Conimencenient  Oration,'  which  though 
spoken  was  in  the  first  instance  written  in 
accordance  with  the  principles  of  prose 
style.  Conversation  "  moves  in  sentences, 
and  rarely  demands  a  paragraph.  I  make 
my  little  remark,  a  dozen  or  two  words, — 
then  wait  for  my  friend  to  hand  me  back 

as  many  more The  brief  grouping's 

of  words  which  make  up  our  talk  furnish 
capital  practice  in  precision,  boldness,  and 
variety;  but  they  do  not  contain  enough 
room  for  exercising  our  constructive  fac- 
ulties. Considerable  length  is  necessary 
if  we  are  to  learn  how  |  as  in  a  Commence- 
ment Oration  I  to  set  forth  B  in  right  relation 
to  A  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  C  on  the 
other;  and  while  keeping  each  a  distinct 
part,  are  to  be  able  through  their  smooth 
progression  to  weld  all  the  parts  together 
into  a  compacted  whole.  Such  wholeness 
is  what  we  mean  by  literary  form."(') 

(t)    G.  H.  Piilmer:  Self-CitHivation  in  English,  p.  ai. 


^ 


sniSTANC  K  AM)   FOKM. 


39 


The  ^'LMieral  aim,  then,  of  speech  and  of 
written    discourse    is   identical:     both  are 
modes  of  evpressin*;  th()u«,'ht  and  feelinj,' 
by  words.  The  substance,  too,  of  speech  and 
of  written  discourse  is  identical:  the  ideas 
expressed   in   any  piece   of   writing;  could 
easily  have  been  spoken.     But  in  form  or 
structure    speech    and    written    discourse 
differ  absolutely.  Practically  viewed  indeed 
speech   must   not   have   literary   form:    in 
conversation  the  chief  demand  is  for  sub- 
stance—{or  the  ready  interchange  of  ideas. 
Speech  must  run  swiftly  to  its  mark.   Writ- 
ten discourse,  on  the  other  hand,  while,  if 
possible,  aiminf<  at  the  naturalness,  ease, 
vigor,  vivacity,  and  reality  of  speech,  must 
be  deliberate  with  the  order  in  which  ideas 
are  expressed.    Lacking;  order— structure, 
form — "any  piece  of  writinfj  is  a  failure; 
because,  in  truth,  it  is  not  a  piece,  but  |  like 
conversation  j  pieces.    For  ease  of  reading, 
or  for  the  attainment  of  an  intended  effect, 
unity  [of  form  as  well  as  of  sub.stance J  is 
essential— the  multitude  of  statements,  anec- 


J. 


^ 


rt 


40 


PRINCIPLKJi  OF  STVLK. 


dotes,  quotations,  ar.i,minj4S,  gay  sportings, 
and  appeals,  all  'bending  one  way  their 
gracious  influence.'  And  this  dominant 
unity  of  the  entire  piece  obliges  unity  also 
in  the  subordinate  parts.  Not  enough  has 
been  done  when  we  have  huddled  together 
a  lot  of  wandering  sentences,  or  penned 
them  in  a  paragraph,  or  even  when  we  have 
linked  them  together  by  the  frail  ties  of 
'  and,  and.'  A  sentence  must  be  compelled 
to  say  a  single  thing;  a  paragraph,  a  single 
thing;  an  essay,  a  single  thing.  Each  part 
is  to  be  a  preliminary  whole,  and  the  total 

a  finished  whole If  a  letter  is  to  be 

written  to  a  friend,  a  report  to  an  employer, 
a  communication  to  a  newspaper,  see  that 
it  has  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end. 
The  majority  of  writings  are  without  these 
pleasing  adornments.  Only  the  great 
pieces  possess  them.  Bear  this  in  mind, 
and  win  the  way  to  artistic  composition  by 
noticing  what  should  be  said  first,  what 
second,  and  what  third."(*) 

(1)    G.  H.  Palmer:  Self-cultivation  in  Enulii-h,  pp.  Sl-SJ.     Let 


^  I 


^ 


,-ata^i'ii*»^Ji>«i-"'-*'''**''t"1^i*>J*'''w>- 


sportings, 

way  their 
I  dominant 

unity  also 
enough  has 
;d  together 

or  penned 
en  we  have 
frail  ties  of 
;  compelled 
ph,  a  single 
Each  part 
id  the  total 
er  is  to  be 
1  employer, 
ler,  see  that 
and  an  end. 
ithout  these 

the  great 
is  in  mind, 
iposition  by 

first,  what 

Kh,  pp.  21-2;j.     Let 


SUBSTANCE  AND  FOKM. 


41 


Structure,  then,  is  the  fundamental  aspect 
of  prose  style.  Structure  itself  is  but  order 
amongst  the  parts  of  a  ivholc.  Note  the 
italicized  words  in  the  preceding  sentence. 
Every  organic  whole  must  have  parts ;  every 
whole  is  made  organic  by  a  definite  or  h.ved 
order  amongst  itsi  parts;  the  order  in  the 
parts  and  in  the  whole — so  far  as  it  is  a 
human  invention — is  first  preconceived 
in  the  mind,  and  then  actually  expressed  in 
the  materials  forming  the  whole.  The 
problem,  therefore,  of  the  practical  study 
of  prose  style  is:  How  may  one  gain  a 
mastery  of  iriving  order  or  fine  structure 
to  ivhat  one  is  writing  f  What  follows  is, 
as  the  mathematicians  say,  a  solution  of 
this  problem. 

The  Gnistruction  of  a  Theme:  Parts 
and  Principles. — Every  organic  whole,  as 
I  have  said,  has  parts  and  a  definite  order 

me  iiKain  recorninend  Professor  Palmer's  booklet.  I  know 
notliin);  else  that  will  so  soon  put  one,  student  or  teacher,  In 
the  rlKht  attitude  to  English  prose  composition,  or  so  soon 
make  prose  composition  appear  a  worthy  and  dellKhtful  task. 
Luminous  throughout.  Professor  Palmer's  book  is  also  abso- 
lutely con  vincinK. 


^ 


44 


PRINCn'LKS  Of  STYLK. 


amoncjst  its  parts.     Since  we  are  concerned 
here  only   with   a  human   invention,    the 
supreme  question  is:     Hoiv  is  an  organic 
whole  of  prose — an  essay  or  a  book — made 
orderfiiU     The  answer  is:   By  having  its 
parts  constructed  according  to  principles.  - 
Let  me  explain  this  matter  familiarly.     In 
constructing,   say,  a    dwelling-house,    the 
architect  must  apply  certain  rules,  laws,  or 
principles  to  the  arramring  of  the  materials 
into  parts,  and  of  the  parts  into  an  organic 
whole.     Consciously,  or  unconsciously,  an 
architect  in  building  a  dwelling-house  em- 
ploys certain  'principles'  of  arithmetic  and 
of  geometry:  say,  e.g.,  the  principle  that 
twice  two  are  four,  or  the  principle  that 
two  straight  lines  cannot  inclose  a  space,  or 
the  principle  that  parallel  lines  if  projected 
infinitely  will  never  meet.    Consciously,  or 
unconsciously,  an  architect  in  building  a 
dwelling-house  employs,  also,  certain  prin- 
ciples of  physics:  say,  e.  g.,  the  principle 
that  all  bodies  gravitate  to  the  center  of 
the  earth  (tend  to  fall),  or  the  principle 


^ 


.:i'i1  ii'i^i"f''S"'^"'^".^'^'  ■^i^iiftfii■^|■VTflll  J'-iii-iii  riir.in.| 


erned 
,    the 
oranic 
made 
tig  its 
iples. 
/.     In 
!,    the 
ws,  or 
terials 
■g  a  trie 
;ly,  an 
se  em- 
;ic  anil 
e  that 
e  that 
ace,  or 
)jected 
isly,  or 
ding  a 
n  prin- 
inciple 
nter  of 
■inciple 


/'" 


SUHSTANCK  AND  FORM. 


43 


that  Hght  travels  in  straight  lines;  and  so  on. 
As  an  architect  must  have  his  principles 
— /.  e.,   fixed   rules  by  which,   so   far   as 
structure  is  concerned,  a  house  must  be 
built,  so  a  prose  stylist  must  have  his  prin- 
ciples   of   structure,    according  to   which 
words  are  to  be  composed  into  sentences, 
sentences  into  paragraphs,  and    all  these 
again  into  a  well-ordered  or  finished  whole. 
Now  an  organic  whole  of  prose,  as  we  saw 
(p.  40),  must  have  a  be.lnning,  a  middle, 
and  an  end;  each  one  of  ■     -     large  parts 
must  be  just  itself,  and  '  dly  so  well- 

ordered  that  what  should  be  written  first 
is  first,  what  should  be  written  second  is 
second,  and  what  should  be  written  last  is 
last.  Let  me,  then,  show  you  how  to 
construct  (abstractly)  a  theme,  according 
to  its  general  parts  and  principles. 

The  Abstract  Construction  of  a  Prose 
Theme.— Every  prose  theme,  be  it  long  or 
short,  be  it  a  book  or  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner, must  have  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and 
an   end.      In    the   technical    language   of 


i 
^ 


/^ 


i 


I 


44 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLK. 


Rhetoric,  every  theme  must  have  an  Intro- 
duction, a  Discussion,  and  a  Conclusion. 
Your  first  business  in  constructing  a  prose 
theme  is  to  plan  or  outline  its  general  sub- 
stance and  form:  that  is,  to  determine  in 
general  jv/iai  you  mean  to  write,  and  how 
you  mean  to  introduce,  discuss,  and  conclude 
whatever  you  may  write. 

Keep  well  in  mind  our  definition  of  prose 
style  (Chap.  I,  pp.  4-9).  To  the  bodily 
eye,  I  said,  prose  style  appears  to  be  simply 
groups  of  little,  irregular,  black  marks, 
called  words,  sentences,  and  paragraphs: 
while  to  the  mental  eye  prose  style  is  the 
expression  of  men's  thoughts  and  feelings 
— of  related  ideas — by  means  of  written 
words  composed,  /.  e.,  grouped  together, 
into  a  well-ordered  and  finished  whole. 
Mastery  of  prose  style,  literary  power, 
means,  then,  mastery  of  composition — that 
is,  of  grouping  together  related  ideas  in 
their  proper  places  and  in  their  proper 
contiections.  Keep  well  in  mind,  too,  what 
this  means.      In  any  given  piece  of  good 


^ 


itro- 
iion. 
rose 
sub- 
\e  in 
how 
lude 

•rose 
)dily 
nply 
irks, 
phs: 
5  the 
lings 
itten 
ther, 
hole, 
wer, 
-that 
r.v  /u 
oper 
ivhat 
»ood 


J 


■KSiJWig-ffimy^ 


I 


SUBSTANCE  AND  FORM. 


m 


prose  style,  I  said  (Chap.  II,  pp.  37-40), 
every  sentence  must  be  made  to  express  a 
single  idea;  every  paragraph,  a  single  idea; 
every  group  of  paragraphs  or  of  chapters, 
a  single  idea:  and  so  on.  Each  of  these 
parts,  small  or  large,  must  be  in  substance 
and  form  a  preliminary  whole,  but  so  com- 
posed under  a  single  or  leading  thought 
that  the  great  total  is  a  well-ordered  and 
finished  whole.  The  way,  therefore,  to  a 
mastery  of  artistic  composition  is  seemingly 
a  mechanical  matter.  One  must  determine 
in  view  of  what  one  means  to  say  in  all, 
what  one  should  say  first,  what  second, 
and  what  third  or  last  in  each  of  the 
preliminary  wholes,  be  they  sentences, 
paragraphs,  chapters,  or  still  larger  parts. 
This  is  to  say  that  always  one  must  con- 
struct or  compose  what  one  is  writing  with 
an  eye  to  unity  of  Substance  and  to  unity 
of  Form.  These  are  the  only  fundamental 
and  general  principles  of  prose  composi- 
tion.(')     Now  let  me  apply  them,  in  order 

(1)    since  tlie  ucqutriflg  of  a  mastery  of  prose  style  is  much 


""■    ■!— ■ 


^ 


46 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


to  show  you  how  to  use  them  in  construct- 
ing a  theme  in  general. 

Suppose  that  you  are  ready  to  write  a 
theme  on,  say,  'What  Prose  Style  Really 
Is,'  or  on  'A  Student's  Room  in  Harvard 
College.'  You  are  to  make,  as  it  is  called, 
an  abstract  of  your  theme.  In  doing  this 
you  must  employ  the  principles  of  Unity 
of  Substance  and  of  Unity  of  Form.  You 
cannot  employ  these  principles,  until,  first, 
you  fix  upon  the  point  of  view  from  which 
you  will  treat  your  theme.  According  to 
the  title  of  the  first  theme  your  aim  is  to 
tell  what  prose  style  really  is.  From  that 
point  of  view  you  would  proceed  somewhat 
as  I  have  done  in  Chapter  I  of  this  text- 
book. You  would,  that  is,  aim  to  show, 
first,  what  prose  style  is  in  external  appear- 
ance;  and,  next,  what  prose  style  is  in 

more  a  matter  of  practice  In  writinK  than  of  theory,  the  teacher 
of  Enttllsh  Composltfon  should  burden  the  minds  of  the  studente 
of  prose  style  with  the  fewest  principles  consistent  with  general 
effectiveness.  For  my  own  part,  I  And  that  two  are  sufficient: 
Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form.  In  general  meaning 
my  own  terminology  corresponds  to  the  more  rHiiitliar  termln- 
olosiy— Unity  (of  Substance).  Mass.  and  Coherence  (Unity  of 
Form).     ■  , 


)  teacher 
students 
I  general 
ifflcient: 
meaning 
•  tormln- 
Un\ty  of 


SUBSTANCE  ANO  FORM, 


47 


real  nature  or  in  use.  What  you  would 
write  about  these  matters  would  be  funda- 
mental. But  you  should  in  some  way, 
proportionately  to  the  main  matters,  intro- 
duce and  conclude  what  is  of  fundamental 
importance.  Your  'abstract'  of  the  gen- 
eral substance  and  form  of  your  theme  on 
the  real  nature  of  prose  style  would  then 
appear  somewhat  as  follows: — 

WHAT    PROSE    STYLE    REALLY    IS. 

Introduction: 

( i)     The  need  of  a  sound  definition  of  prose  style. 

(2)     Prose  style  must  be  defined  in  the  same  way  as  any 
other  object,  namely,  from  the  point  of  view  of  (a)  its  external 
appearance,  and  (*)  its  use. 
Discussion: 

(i)  The  external  appearance  of  prose  style.  («)  As  one 
looks  one  sets  on  a  printed  page  only  little,  irregular,  black 
marks,    (*)  appearing  in   groups,  some  small,  some  large. 

(2)     The  real  nature  of  prose  style:     (n)  The  origin  of 
these  little  black  marks:  (*)  The  meaning  of  the  groups. 
Conclusion: 

A  full  definition  of  what  prose  style  really  is. 

Before  I  shall  instruct  you  further  in  the 
matter  of  planning  a  theme,  it  is  worth 
while  to  have  another  'abstract'  of  a  theme. 
Let  the  subject  of  the  theme  be— 'A  Stu- 


ssam 


■vm^m' 


/^ 


48 


PKrNClPLES  OF  STYLK. 


dent's  Room  in  Harvard  College.'  I  may 
here  make  to  you  the  same  remarks  as  in 
the  case  of  your  first  'abstract.'  You  are 
to  plan  the  general  substance  and  form  of 
your  theme.  In  doing  so  you  must  employ 
the  principles  of  Unity  of  Substance  and  of 
Unity  of  Form.  As  an  aid  to  the  employ- 
ing of  these  principles  you  should,  first, 
select  your  point  of  view.  Let  me  indicate 
your  point  of  view  by  italicized  words. 
In  your  theme  you  mean  to  describe^  not 
the  room  of  any  student  you  please,  but 
the  room  of  a  student  in  Harvard  College, 
and  you  mean  to  describe  its  appearances 
and  its  use.  Every  room  has,  as  we  say, 
an  outside  and  an  inside.  The  outside 
usually  is  of  no  significance;  the  inside 
alone  is  of  real  value.  Every  room,  too, 
has  its  uses;  sometimes  it  is  a  'study,' 
sometimes  both  a  study  and,  as  they  call 
it,  a  '  living-room.'  The  uses  much  more 
than  the  appearances  of  a  room  are  of  real 
value.  In  general,  then,  your  theme  would 
be  constructed  with  these  facts  in  your 


^ 


SUBSTANCF,  AND  KOKM. 


49 


mind.  You  must,  too,  as  before,  introduce 
and  conclude  your  theme,  proportionately 
to  the  matter  of  the  main  discussion.  You 
would,  then,  plan  your  theme  somewhat  as 
follows : 

A  student's  room  in  harvard 

COLLEGE. 

Introduction: 

(1)  Accepled  an  invitation  to  a  Harvard  CoiiimcntemeiU. 

(2)  Went  a  day  earlier  than  necessary  and  spent  the  time 
in  examining;  the  collesje  l)uildings. 

(3)  Struck  by  the  uni(|ue  appearance  and  varied  uses  of 
the  students'  rooms,  and  of  one  in  particular. 
Discussion: 

(1)  External  appearance;  door,  transom,  letter-box, 
name  of  the  occupant  in  brass  or  card. 

(2)  Internal  appearance;  general  architecture,  general 
furnishings,  specific  descriptions  of  these,  and  of  their  arrange- 
ments, decorations  on  the  mantel  and  the  walls. 

(3)  Uses;  the  study,  the  living-room,  the  sleeping-room, 
method  of  transforming  the  whole  into  a  reception-room  for 
friends  and  relatives  on  Commencement  day. 
Conclusion: 

A  lesson  learned:  beauty  and  use  should  be  valued  ecpially 
ni  the  making  of  our  dwelling-places. 

If  now,  on  the  basis  of  the  instruction  so 
far  given,  you  were  to  expand  or  develop 
the  topics  outlined  in  the  'abstract '  of  your 
theme,  you  would  not,  except  by  accident, 


I  i 


>t 


^ 


ig^  ''WJtSjHffyiTHBI 


mumm 


50 


I'KINCIl'LKS  OK  STYI.K. 


♦^ 


;        , 

1: 


have  a   well-ordered  and   finished  whole. 
Your  expanded  theme  would  lack  unity  of 
Substance  and  unity  of  Form.  Your  theme 
would  indeed  have  more  or  less  unity  of 
Substance,  according'  as  you  adhered  more 
or  less  strictly  to  the  topics  of  your  abstract: 
all  the  ideas  contained  in  your  expanded 
theme  would  be  aspects  of  one  large  idea. 
Your  theme  would  have,  too,  more  or  less 
unity  of  Form,  according  as  you  adhered 
more  or  less  strictly  to  the  precise  order 
of  the  topics  outlined  in  your  abstract:  all 
the    ideas    contained    in   your    expanded 
theme  would  follow  one  another  in  a  more 
or  less  logical  (natural)  order.     Unity  of 
Substance  and  Unity  of  Form,  however, 
are  much  //r)re  than   mere  connection  or 
order  amongst  a  number  of  related  ideas, 
or  amongst  the   groups   of   ideas,    called 
the  principal  parts  of  the  whole.     Let  me, 
then,  explain  further  the  general  nature  or 
meaning  of  Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity  of 
Form,  and  the  general  nature  and  relations 
of  the  principal  parts— Introduction,  Discus- 


i: 
C 

s 
I 


/^ 


SUBSTANCK  AND  K()I<M. 


5« 


sion,  and  Conclusion—of  a  prose  thcme.(') 
Unity  of  any  kind,  whether  of  Substance 
or  of  Form,  is  in  general  a  matter  alto- 
gether  of    relations.      The    fundamental 
difference  between  unity  of  Substance  and 
unity   of  Form  is  a  matter,  then,  of  the 
difference  in  kinds  of  relations.  When  it  is 
said  that  every  prose  theme  should  have 
unity  of  Substance,  this  means  two  things. 
It  means,  first,  that  a  prose  theme  should 
in  general  include  only  such  ideas  as  group 
themselves  about  a  central  idea,  limited 
or  defined  by  a  oiven  point  of  vieiv ;  and, 
secondly,  that  the  ideas  grouping  themselves 
about  a  particular  point  of  view  ivithin  the 
ireneral  one,  about  the  point  of  view,  that 
is,  of  the  principal  parts  of  a  theme,  should 
he  so  grouped  and  not  otherivise.      If  a 
theme,  first,  as  a  ivhole,  contain  only  ideas 
proper  to  a  given  general  point  of  view, 


(I)  since  I  mil  now  considering  only  the  abstract  plan  of  a 
theme.  I  must  be  wholly  neneral  In  treatlntt  the  parts  and  prin- 
ciples of  prose  composition.  More  speclfli;  treatment  will  come 
where  It  VR>lonKs.  under  my  Chapters  on  I'aniKraphs  and  Sen- 
tences. 


/^ 


s» 


I'RlMill'LKS  OV   STYLi:. 


and  if  a  theme,  secondly,  as  a  thing  of 
pcir/s,  contain  only  ideas  proper  to  the 
special  point  of  view  of  each  part— then  a 
theme  has  a  unity  of  Substance. 

Let  your  theme,  e.  ;'•.,  be  'A  Student's 
Room  in  Harvard  Collejre.'  It  shall  have 
unity  of  Substance  when,  in  general,  the 
ideas  expressed  in  it  are  not  ideas  about  ony 
student's  room,  but  about  the  room  of  a 
stu'h'ut  in  liarvai'ii  College;  and  when,  in 
particular,  the  ideas  that  naturally  belong 
to  the  Introduction  are  placed  there  and 
nowhere  else;  and  so  on,  as  regards  the 
ideas  belonging  to  the  Discussion,  and  to 
the  Conclusion.(') 

Again:  When  it  is  said  that  every  prose 

(II    Ooiiot  lliltik  tliiit  be.MiUHi'  till'  priiiclpiil  puitsof  ii  thfiiu- 
.•ontiilinini.nil)cr.)fri-luU.dl(i™H,M..anlio<lu.tlon.l)l«(Us.slo... 

„n(l('.M..-l.Hl(,nHr.-'<n(>«(a»iMw  pints;  th.it.  thoiffon-.  unity  of 
SulwMituM.  Is  .1  ..mtttT  not  (.Illy  of  u»/mt  l.lf.is..  tht-ii..'  hh  a  whole 
Hhull  ooiitHln.  but  also  of  holt'  rru.ni/  of  tin-  totiil  iiuinber  shall 
iH-  pl.i.-f(l  in  WW  prinolpiil  |mrt«.  The  Introdu.-tlon.  tlu>  I)l»- 
.■ussloii.  1111(1  thii  I'oncliislon  art-  /.rrmal  parts.  Tin-  prliiL-lplf 
of  Unity  of  Koini  (In  that  aspKCtof  Itcallefl  Mussor  Piopoitlon) 
must  d.'ternilnv.  aocordliiK  to  the  ,elatlv.!/oim,.l  value  of  each 
part,  the  rtXaUvt  ivUue.  and  thus  the  rtXaliw  pn.p'oiion  of  Ideas 
to  be  placed  In  each  part.  In  artlsdc  composition  the  pr  nc  p  e 
of  Unity  of  Substance  Is  (often)  subordinate  to  the  principle 
of  Unity  of  Form. 


— w»v»wmMiiw^— to 


/^ 


"K  of 
()  the 
then  a 

tlent's 

I  have 
il,  the 
lit  any 

II  of  a 
len,  in 
belong 
re  and 
ds  the 
and  to 

f  prose 

)f  II  thfiiie 
)Im('iis.sIoii. 
'.  unity  of 
iiM  a  whole 
iil)er  Nhull 
I,  till'  Dls- 
prliiL'lpU' 
'foimrtloiii 
Inc  of  oacli 
in  of  UltMis 
I'  prliiiMpli' 
.'  principle 


SlMtSTANli:  AND  FORM.  || 

theme  should   have   unity   of   Form,   this 
also  means  two  things.       It  means,  tirst, 
that  the  ideas  proper  to  a  given  general 
point  of  view  should  /^VAn:-  one  another 
from  the  beginning,  through  the  middle, 
to  the  end  of  the  theme  in  a  looical  order, 
/.  <?.,  in  an  order  natural  to  a  ii;iven  pointof 
vienv,  and,  seeondly,  that  the  ideas  logically 
or  naturally  grouping  themseUes  together 
into  theprincipal/>fcr/.vof  the  whole  should  be 
proportionate  to  the  importance  of  the  parts, 
and  thus  appear  respectively  and  unmistak- 
ably as   the   Introduction,  the  Discussion, 
and  the  Conclusion.     If  a  theme,  first,  as  a 
iL^hoh,  have  the  ideas  it  may  rightly  contain 
arranged   in  a   logical   order,  /.  g.,  in  an 
order  natural  to  a  given  point  of  view,  and 
if  a  theme,  secondly,  as  a  thing  of  parts^ 
have  the  parts  themselves  proportionate  to 
their  importance  and  thus  clearly  indicate 
their  nature  and  use,  their  relations  to  the 
whole — then  a  theme  has  unity  of  Form. 
Let  your  theme,  e.  jr.,  be,  as  before,  'A 
Student's  Room  in  Harvard  College.'     It 


I 


.1 


ipjwmwiywiwwi.*.— '■  '•  — "-• 


^ 


54 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


shall  have  unity  of  F.nm  when,  in  general, 
it  has  a  logical  or  natural  order  in  the  ideas 
it  contains.     The  natural  or  logical  order 
is  a  proceeding  from  what  first  appears  or 
from  what  is  of  least  importance  to  what 
last  appears  and  is  of  greatest  importance. 
The  external  appearance    of  a    student's 
room    is   necessarily   (logically)    the   first 
object  you  see,  and  it  is  also  the  least  im- 
portant.    The  internal  appearance  is  log- 
ically the  second  object  you  see,  and  it  is 
also  somewhat  important.     The  uses  of  the 
room  are  logically  the  last  object  to  appear, 
and  they  are  of  fundamental  importance. 
The  order  in  time  and  the  order  in  value 
indicate   the  natural  or  logical  order   of 
expressing  your  ideas.  Again:  Your  theme 
shall  have  unity  of  Form  when,  in  partic- 
ular, its  principal  parts  are  logically  related, 
and  thus  appear  as  respective  parts,  having 
respective  functions.     The  parts  are  logi- 
cally related  when  they  are  constructed 
proportionately  to  the  importance  of  the 
ideas  they  should  contain  as  respectively 


%iiy  icKunnifiifiiiii-iiiii'r  iwiiO* 


nfitiililH 


wWm 


in  general, 
in  the  ideas 
ffical  order 

appears  or 
ice  to  what 
importance, 
a    student's 
•)    the   first 
he  least  im- 
ance  is  log- 
ee,  and  it  is 
e  uses  of  the 
ct  to  appear, 
importance, 
der  in  value 
al  order   of 
Your  theme 
en,  in  partic- 
:ally  related, 
5arts,  having 
irts  are  logi- 

constructed 
tance  of  the 

respectively 


-?  .t.^^^-^j.-i.-r^y^v'ifiiair-M.iirfni  HmfmtmmiMmmsi  fci  t 


SUBSTANCE  AND  FORM 


SS 


miiitmtiittm 


the  Introduction,  the  Discussion,  and  the 
Conclusion.  How  you  came  at  all  to  write 
ahout  the  room  of  a  student  at  Harvard 
College  is  logically  or  naturally  of  less 
importance  than  the  description  of  the  room 
itself;  and  the  external  appearance,  of  less 
importance  than  the  internal  appearance; 
and  the  internal  appearance,  of  less  im- 
portance than  the  use  of  the  room.  The 
nature  and  relations  of  the  parts,  then,  are 
made  plain  by  the  order  and  substance  of 
the  parts.  In  a  well -constructed  theme, 
unmistakably  one  can  distinguish  the  Intro 
duction  from  the  Discussion,  and  the  Con- 
clusion from  both.  The  relative  -propor- 
tioning of  the  parts  much  more  than  the 
mere  order  of  the  i  d  eas  indicates  that  a  theme 
has  or  has  not  artistic  composition.(^) 
In  view  of  all  I  have  just  said,  you  cannot 


(1)  The  most  IuiiiIiiouh  Koiei'iil  treatment  of  the  principles 
of  Unity  of  Substance  and  of  Unity  of  Form  Is  to  be  found  In 
WendeU's  KnuUsh  Compontffon,  Chap.  1  and  V.  Any  other  Rood 
textbook  on  Rhetoric  and  Composition,  such  as  HIU's,  Mead's, 
Carpenter's,  OenunK's.  Herrick  &  Damon's,  Hale's.  Newcomer's, 
or  Cairns',  will  furnish  the  student  of  style  with  more  detailed 
knowledge  and  with  Illustrative  material. 


■  ■^rwwsKT's^rast^^rv 


'-r:.?.V'.'j^vi'-.i*''ViJ"'*.' 


^ 


If- 


56  PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 

fail  to  understand  the  nature  and  relations, 
in  general,  of  the  principal  parts  of  a  prose 
theme— the   nature   and   relations  of    the 
Introduction,  of  the  Discussion,  and  of  the 
Conclusion.(')  The  Discussion  is  the  funda- 
mental or  chief  part  of  a  prose  theme;  the 
Introduction  and  the  Conclusion  are  mmor 
parts.     It  all  depends  upon  your  pomt  of 
view  and    your  purpose   in  writing   how 
you  shall  construct  the  parts  of  a  theme, 
whether  it  be  a  great  book  or  treatise,  an 
essay,    an   editorial,   or   a  business-letter. 
In  general  it  may  be  said  that  an  Intro- 
duction should  be,  proportionately  to  the 
main  matters  (Discussion),  simple,  direct, 
pertinent,  and  short;  that  the  Conclusion 
should   be,    as   the    Introduction,    simple, 
direct,  short,  and  summary;  and  that  the 

,n    The  Introduction,  tho  Discussion,  and  the  Conclusion  of 

doesnot  nmke  a  part  tbe  Intro^^^^^^     ,  ^^^^  ,u„ctlon  of 

the  conclusion.    On  the  contr^^^^  ^^^  ^  on.det^rmlnes 

riS^rri'ar^".tlon  in  «pace  Of  the  Ideas tohe 
expressed  In  any  part.    Cf.  note  1,  P- !«• 


^ 


EXPANSION  AND  REVISION. 


57 


elations, 
:  a  prose 

of  the 
id  of  the 
le  funda- 
;me;  the 
re  minor 

point  of 
ing   how 
a  theme, 
iatise,  an 
;ss-letter. 
an  Intro- 
ly  to  the 
le,  direct, 
onclusion 
I,    simple, 
.  that  the 


s  Conclusion  of 
arts,  of  course, 
(1  thus  occupy 
isltlon  In  space 

Discussion,  or 
nd  function  of 
on,clet«rmlne8 

the  Ideas  to  be 


Discussion  should  be  elaborated    propor- 
tionately to  the  point  of  view  and  relatively 
to  the  occasion  and  value  of  what  is  written, 
and    to  the  general  physical  and   mental 
characteristics  of  the  writer's  readers  or 
hearers.     Nothing  more  specific  on  these 
matters  can  be  said  here.  If  you  thoroughly 
understand  the  general  nature  and  meaning 
of  the  principles  of  Unity  of  Substance  and 
of  Unity  of  Form  and  the  general  nature  and 
relations  of  the  Introduction,  the  Discussion, 
and  the  Conclusion  of  a  theme,  only  per- 
sistent  practice — and   failure — in   writing 
prose  can  teach  you,  as  it  taught  all  others, 
how  to  use  your  principles  in  composing 
the  materials  of  style,  the  ideas  symbolized 
by  written  words,  into  parts  and  the  parts 
into  an  artistic — well-ordered  and  finished 
— whole  of  prose.     Always,  then,  if  you 
would  write  artistically,  at  least  in  a  plain 
sense,  make  an  'abstract'  of  the  general 
Substance  and  Form  of  your  theme;  keep 
it  either  mentally,  or,  better,  on  paper, 
always  before  you;  and  while  expanding 


'.  -^■Vv%-'****Ai.'*u>i«l8fe  ■ 


i^t^ii;^mr'Wgia»itfMifMm/^emKvm.i^m'*»\i  im^m'  vnmm^ 


^ 


58 


PRINCIPLES  OK  STYLE. 


the  topics  outlined  in  your  abstract  never 
forget  that  your  theme  must  contain  only 
such  ideas  as  are  proper  to  a  given  point 
of  view,   and    that   the  ideas   themselves 
must  be  grouped  or  composed  into  parts 
arranged  in  logical  order,  and  made  pro- 
portionate to  the  importance  of  the  ideas.(') 
It  remains  for  me  to  show  you,  in  a 
concrete  way,  how  to  construct  and  revise 
in  general  an  original  composition,  accord- 
ing   to   the   principles    of    the   Unity    of 
Substance  and  of  Unity  of  Form. 

The  Concrete  Construction  of  a  Prose 
Theme:  Expansion  and  Revision.— In  order, 
to  give  you  full  insight  into  the  actual 
method  of  writing  prose,  I  shall  now,  as  it 
were,  show  you  yourself  at  work  expanding 
the  abstract  of  a  theme,  and  then  revising 
your  expanded  theme,  according  to  the 
principles  of  Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity 
of  Form.  Suppose,  then,  that  you  expand 
the  topics  outlined  in  your  abstract  of  your 

,H    An  ex^^it^echanlcal  device  for  making  a  f uU  ab- 
straJlotathBmol.tobe  found  ,n  Wendeir«  B..aH-h  Comporttton 

pp.  164-166. 


^ 


■i>wai>iirmi*in[im»«iir;'i»i i»xiiiii<ii|B«i|iiin>iriWiHij)ir,iiii|. 


KXPANSION  AND  REVISION. 


59 


theme,    entitled    'A    Student's    Room    in 

Harvard  College': — 
The  Original  Composition: 

Exactly  one  month  from  the  present  moment  of 
writing  I  received  an  invitation  from  an  old  school- 
mate, who  was  about  to  graduate  from  Harvard, 
to  attend  the  Commencement  exercises  on  June 
27th  of  the  present  j'ear.  [My  old  schoolmate  is 
a  aplendid  fellow  in  every  way, and  I  shall  always 
remember  the  happy  days  we  two  used  to  spend 
in  the  woods  hunting  birds  and  squirrels,  and 
swimming  in  the  lakes.  His  father  who  is  a  rich 
man,  was  able  to  send  him  to  college^,  but  my 
father,  who  is  unfortunately  a  poor  man,  could 
not  send  me.  And  so  we  two  had  not  seen  one 
another  for  four  years.  But  when  a  day  or  two 
before  Commencement  at  Harvard  we  did  meet, 
we  spent  the  evening  in  recalling  the  old  happy 
times.] 

I  accepted  readily  my  old  schoolmate's  invita- 
tion. Following  his  advice  I  went  a  day  or  two 
earlier  than  absolutely  necessary.  [My  ride  both  on 
train  and  on  coach  through  the  country— my  own 
home  is  in  Georgia— was  exceedingly  enjoj'able. 
I  should  like  to  tell  all  about  my  experiences  on 
the  way.  Some  of  them  were  startling.  Here  are 
a  few  of  them.    On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of 

my  leaving  home ].    The  day  of  my  arriving 

at  Cambridge  I  spent  in  examining  the  Harvard 
buildings,  especially  the  dormitories.  [You  would 
have  smiled  if  you  had  5een  me  walking  every- 
where about  Harvard,  seriously  and  in  wonder- 
ment, while  all  the  students  about  me  wore  a  look 


nskwmmmmif-' 


^ 


6o 


PRINCIPLKS  OK  STYLK. 


f 


r    4 
\    5 


1 


of  absolute  indifference  a^  to  whetlier  Harvard  or 
they  the.n«elve..  existed.  This  attitude.  I  believe,  im 
called  'the  HarvaVd  indifference"!  I  strolled 
through  the  halls  of  one  of  the  donnitones,  and 
was  struck  by  the  unique  appearance  and  varied 
uses  of  the  students'  rooms.  By  accident  I  ran 
into  my  old  schoolmate  and  soon  was  sittmj? 
down  by  his  side  in  hisown  room. chatting  about 
old  times.  His  room -or,  rather,  rooms  -I  shall 
now  describe  briefly.  , 

[As  I  said,  the  father  of  my  colleRe-friend  was 
a  wealthy  man,  and,  therefore,  able  to  supply  his 
son  with  all   the  money   needed   for   luxurious 
living.     It  was  quite  apparent  to  me  that  my  old 
schoolmate  had  put  his  'allowances'  to  the  best 
use      Everywhere    about  him   were  signs  of    a 
large  expenditure  of  money My  old  school- 
mate's room,  or    rooms,  were   interesting  from 
outside  to  inside]    Before  entering  his  room  I 
w   3  struck  by  the  elegance  of  its  mere  exterior. 
The  doors  and  panellings  were  of  the  heaviest 
dark  oak.    They  were  carved  and  turned  so  as  to 
bring  out  the  natural  beauties  of  dark  oak.  Above 
the  door  stood  the  transom,  half  open.    It  was  of 
stained  glass  and  reflected  on  the  floor  of  the  hall 
the  name  of  the  dormitory.     At  the  left  of  the 
door,  attached  to  the  wall,  wasa  pecuhar-looking 
device,  which  my  schoolmate  explained  was  the 
latest  invention  in  the  way  of  a  letter-box  and  a 
call-bell  Underneath  the  call-bell,  in  a  rectangular 
opening  protected  by  brass,  appeared  in  card  the 
name  of  the  occupant  of  the  room.    [I  have  otten 
wondered  why  such  a  8ystem-letter-box,call-bell, 
and  the  name  of  the  owner    was  not  long  ago 


mm 


^ 


EXPANSION  AND  REVISION. 


6t 


a  rd  or 
evo,  if* 
trolled 
e»,  and 
varied 
I  ran 
i^ittin;; 
f  about 
I  Bhall 

nd  was 
iply  his 
curious 
mj'  old 
he  beat 
IS  of    a 
school- 
g  from 
room  I 
xterior. 
leaviest 
go  as  to 
.  Above 
t  was  of 
the  hall 
t  of  the 
■looking 
was  the 
ax  and  a 
tangular 
card  the 
ive  otten 
call-bell, 
ong  ago 


invented  for  dwelling  houses.  I  suppose,  however, 
that  such  a  thing  could  hardly  be  thought  of 
before  the  invention  of  electrical  api)liances]. 

As  I  entered  my  friend's  room,  I  met  a  flood  of 
light  dimly  crimson  in  color.  The  'effect'  was 
due  to  the  crimson-stained  walls  and  the  crimson 
flags  which  hung  everywhere  around  the  room, 
indicating  that  my  friend  was  a  student  of  Har- 
vard College.  [If  I  had  been  visiting  a  comrade 
at  Yale,  I  suppose  that  the  light  of  his  rooms 
would  have  appeared  in  a  dim  flood  of  blue. 
Crimson  and  blue  are  respectively  the  Harvard 
and  the  Yale  'colors.'  One  of  the  Harvard  publi- 
cations—a daily— is  called  The  Crimson.] 

Once  seated  I  noted  the  general  furnishings  of 
my  friend's  room.    In  the  center  of  the  room  was 
a  large  square  oak  desk.    [Beside  the  desk  was  a 
peculiar    invention    forming    a    sitting-chair,    a 
lounging  chair,  and,  in  case  of  light  sickness,  a 
small  writing-table.]    [On  the  desk  ..ere  a  row  of 
school  books,  a  student-lamp,  a  jar  of  '  Yale  Mix- 
ture' (tobacco),  three   bull-dog  smoking  pipes, 
and  an  enoi-mous  'stein  '  (or  beer-mug).]    In  one 
corner  of  the  room  stood  a  small  escritoire;  and 
beside  it  a  beautiful  oak  book-case  with  glass  doors, 
containing  finely  bound  volumes  of  the  French 
poets,  the  English  novelists,  and  the  Greek  and  the 
German  philosophers.    In  another  corner  stood 
a  beautiful  grand-concert  piano.    [I  requested  my 
friend  to  play  something  on  the  piano  for  me.    I 
had  always  been  fond  of  Chopin  and  Brahms, 
and  he,  too,  had  the  same  preferences.     He  sat 
down  at  the  piano  and  played  with  excellent  exe- 
cution and  much  feeling.] 


6a 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLK. 


Thewiillrtof  the  room,  iis*  '  said,  were  wtained 
In  criiuHon;  and  on  them  htinj?  three  oil  paintinjfa 
(a   Millet,  a   Honhenr,  and   a   WluHtler),  besides 
two  replicas  by  Sargent,  and  by  Abbey,  and  several 
etchings  and  drawings.    (There  were,  too,  on  the 
left-hand  corner  of  the  piano  several  photographs 
of  the  great  composers;  and  on  the  book  case 
several  photographs  of  Hritish  and  of  American 
authors.]  On  the  wall,  over  the  mantel-piece,  were 
'  pictures'  of  the  Harvard  football  team,  and  of  the 
Mott-Haven  track  team,  as  well  as  of  the  Pierian 
Sodality,  and  the  Glee  Club.    The  mantelpiece,  on 
the  east  aide  of  the  room,  was  decorated  (V)  with  a 
few  photographs  of  friends,  classmates,  and  rela- 
tives, a  bronze  cast   (in   miniature)  of  French's 
statue  of  John  Harvard,  flanked  on  each  side  by 
plaster  casts  (in   miniature)  of   Herkomer's  Lion 
and  Tiger.    The  fireplace  underneath  the  mantel 
presented  a  unique  appearance.     Instead  of  hav- 
ing on  the  hearth  the  customary  short  'logs'  of 
wood    ready   for    burning,    and    the    customarj- 
andirons,  the  space  was  decorated  with  a  pair  of 
fine    moose-antlers.      Against    one  of  the  large 
forks  of  the  antlers  rested  a  pair  of  snow-shoes, 
and  against  the  other,  a  fine  Winchester  rifle. 

Drawing  aside  two  beautiful  Turkish  portieres, 
which  I  had  not  before  noted,  my  friend  said— 
•  Here  is  my  sleeping-room.'  iMy  lack  of  observa- 
tion in  this  case  reminds  me  that  I  have  forgotten 
to  describe  the  windows  of  the  study  and  their 
furnishings.  The  windows  of  the  study  or  living 
room  were  all  draped  with  curtains,  crimson  in 
color  and 'worked 'with  the  Harvard  'Sigillum  - 
a  heart-shaped  shield  containing,  as  it  were,  at 


iiiliiiiitWIliiiiHii' 


^ 


EXPANSION   AND  RKVISION. 


63 


each  of  the  three  corners*  of  a  V  the  representa- 
tion of  an  open  book;  on  the  first  of  which 
appeared  the  letters  VK;  on  the  second,  the  letters 
Ki;  and  on  the  third,  the  letters  TAS.  1.  c,  V'KR- 
ITAS.  The  shield  was  surronnded  by  three 
words:  Cliristu  et  Kvclvsiuc.  rnderneath  the 
two  west  windows  was  a  seat  plumb  with  the 
wainscottinjf,  built  in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  and 
covered  with  cushions  of  crimson,  'worked  '  with 
a  larjre  H.]  The  sleepinjj-room  of  my  schoolmate, 
contrary  to  my  anticipations,  was  plainly  fur- 
nished. It  contained  nothing  but  one  ordinary 
iron  bedstead,  a  plain  oak  'clothes-press'  and  a 
low  'dresaiuK-table'  also  of  plain  oak,  with  an 
oval  French-plate  mirror.  Kxcept  for  a  bearskin 
at  the  side  of  the  bed,  the  floor  was  bare,  but 
highly  polished. 

The  uses  to  which  my  friend's  room  and  its 
compartments  were  put.  were  various.  (At  the 
time  of  my  visit  I  regret  now  that  I  was  so  impolite 
as  to  express  surprise  at  the  elegance  of  the  fur- 
nishingsof  the  study  in  contrast  with  the  plainness 
of  the  furnishings  of  the  sleeping-room.  I  should 
have  manifested  a  certain  amount  of  the  so- 
called  Harvard  indifference;  but  since  I  was 
away  from  home  for  the  first  time,  I  suppose  that 

I ]     The  compartment  which  I  first  entered 

■  and  examined  was  used  simply  as  a  study  and 
as  a  living  room.  In  it,  too,  male  friends,  students 
and  others,  were  frequently  entertained  in  an 
"  informal  way.  [I  am  now  reminded  that  in  my 
description  of  the  general  furnishings  of  the 
study  or  living-room.  I  forgot  to  note  that  on  a 
small  table  near  the  fire-place  stood  a  chafing 


^ 


«4 


I'klNCIPLKS  OF  STYLE. 


dlrtli,  inula  heiiiitifnl  cut->flaH«  piincli  howl,  rtur- 
rounded  in  hixiirrv  arran^jeinent  with  drinkinjf- 
jrliiHrtfrt  of  the  rtaine  fine  materials.) 

The  rtecond  coinpartnient  was  used  niiiohmore 
Hrt  n  dreMsin^-nionj  than  as  a  slecpinK^-rooin.      It 
existed  really,  as  I  saw  on  the  day  after  n»y  visit, 
for   the    purpose    of   l>ein>{    readily   transformed 
alonn  with  the  study  into  a    reception-room  for 
friends   and    relatives   <in  Commenoement   days. 
This  was  done  tiy  removin^j  the  desk  and  other 
inconvenient  paraphernalia  of  the  study,  and  the 
bed,  chiffonier,  and  dressing  table  of  the  sleeping- 
room;   and   by   makinjr   a    new    arrangement   of 
chairs,  chafing  dish  and  punch-bowl,  and  of  the 
piano.     The  portieres  instead  of  hanjrinR  upriffht 
were  on    these   occasions  separated  widely,  and 
the  piano  was  placed  in  the  sleeping-room. 

How  charmintr  my  visit  to  my  old  schoolmate's 
room  was  to  me,  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  on 
the  day  after Conunencement  I  left  for  home  fully 
convinced  that  utility  and  beauty  should  always 
be  equally  valued  in  our  dwelling-places.  [I  have 
often  regretted  since  my  visit  that  I  did  not  strive 
somehow  to  become  an  undergraduate  of  Harv- 
ard. Of  course  I  could  not  have  '  roomed '  in  the 
fine  dormitories,  such  as  Claverly,  Walter  Hast- 
ings, or  Randolph;  but  even  if  I  should  have  been 
forced  through  inadequate  means  to  '  room  '  in 
College  Hall^I  could  have  made  my  rooms  there 
at  least  comfortable  an<l  beautiful  by  some  sort 
of  artistic  arrangement  of  the  furnishings;  and 
could  have  somehow  provided  decent  entertain- 
ment for  my  friends  and  relatives.  But  this,  as 
Kipling  says,  is  another  story.] 


w'iwiJwwi'taMi 


/^ 


KXl'ANSION   AM)   R?:VISI()N. 


f'5 


)o\vl,  rtiir- 
irinkin^- 

iioli  more 
(loin.  It 
my  virtit, 
iirtformed 
room  for 
i»nt  dayrt. 
ind  otlier 
,-,  an<l  the 
HleepitiK- 
ement  of 
nd  of  the 
K  upright 
idely,  imd 
om. 

oolmate's 
ct  that  on 
lome  fully 
Id  always 
>a.  [I  have 
not  strive 
;  of  Harv- 
ed '  in  the 
dter  Haut- 
have  been 
'  room  '  in 
oms  there 
rtome  sort 

lin^**;  ""tl 
entertain- 

iit  this,  as 


Your  orifjfinal  composition  or  expanded 
theme,  despite  your  seeming  adherence  to 
the  topics  outlined  in  the  abstract  of  your 
theme,  violates  the  principles  of  Unity  of 
of  Substance  and  of  Unity  of  Form.  Once 
I  have  criticized  your  orij^'inal  composition 
from  the  point  of  view  of  these  principles, 
you  shall  apply  my  criticisms  in  makinfj; 
a  revised  or  final  composition.  Here  is 
my  criticism. 

In  your  original  composition  there  is 
nothing  that  is  not  somehow  related.  Yet 
from  the  point  of  view  of  your  theme,  your 
Introduction  lacks  Unity  of  wSubstance. 
Your  Introduction  is  embraced  within  the 
first  two  para«ijraphs  (pp.  59-60).  Examine 
these.  On  doing  so  you  will  find  that  the 
matters  or  sentences  which  I  have  inclosed 
in  brackets  are  really  a  digression  and 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  main  matters. 
If  they  had,  then  you  might  have  gone  on 
just  as  relevantly  to  describe  the  differences 
between  your  own  home  and  the  home  of 
your  friend,  between  your  clothes  and  his, 


/^ 


r? 


j 


.  1 


I. 


ft6  PRINCIIM.KS  (W  STYI.K. 

and  what  not.  Your  tirst  two  paragraphs 
hwk  Ihiity  of  Substance  because  ui  them 
you  have  a  ^reat  deal  more  to  say  about 
yourself  and  your  old  schoolmate  than  you 
have  about  the  invitation  to  a  Harvard 
Commencement  and  about  the  fact  of  your 
thus  undertakinji  to  describe  the  room  of  a 
student  in  Harvard  College. 

You  should  have  said  simply  that  ycm 
had  received  an  invitation  to  be  present  at 
the  Commencement  exercises  of  Harvard, 
in  June,   1900:  that  you  readily  accepted 
the    invitation,  went    a   day   earlier   than 
necessary,  and  spent  the  day  of  your  arnv- 
in^'  at  Cambridge  in  examining  the  Harvard 
buildings,  especially  the  dormitories.     To 
be  sure,  you  do  say  all  these  things;  but 
you  throw  into  your  Introduction  all  sorts 
of  things  about  old  times,  about  your  ride 
from  Georgia  to  Massachusetts,  about  the 
contrast    between    your    own    attitude   of 
wonderment   and    the   so-called    Harvard 
indifference.     Certainly  all  these  matters 
were  connected  with  your  visit,  but  they 


BtV 
HCl 

in 
ro< 
br 


^ 


about 
an  you 


if  your 


)m 


of  a 


KXPANSION   AM)  KKVISION. 


('• 


are  not  relevant  to  your  point  of  view, 
namely,  how  youeanie  to  write  at  all  about 
a  student's  room  in  Harvard  College. 
Really,  instead  of  composing  with  an  eye 
to  makini;  a  well-ordered  and  finished 
whole,  you  have  been  '  talkin*;,'  or,  better, 
'  babbling?/  Your  Introduetion  is  at  fault  not 
so  much  in  form,  as  it  is  in  substanee.  It 
will  be  a  better  piece  of  composition  if  you 
eliminate  the  matter  I  have  bracketed. 
Your  Introduction  will  then  read  as  follows: 

Kxactly  one  month  from  the  prenent  moment  of 
writin>{  I  received  an  invitation  from  an  ohi  Hchool- 
niate,  who  was  about  to  graduate  from  Harvard, 
to  attenil  the  Commencement  exerciHes  on  June 
27th  of  the  prenent  year.  I  accepted  readily  my 
old  achoolmate'a  invitation.  Followinji  his  advice 
I  went  a  day  or  two  earlier  than  abHolutely  necea- 
sary.  The  day  of  my  arriving?  at  Cambridge  I 
spent  in  examining-  the  Harvard  buildinjfs, 
especially  the  dormitories.  I  strolled  through 
the  halls  of  one  of  the  dormitories,  and  was  struck 
by  the  unitjue  ajipearance  and  varied  uses  of  the 
students'  rooms.  By  accident  I  ran  into  my  old 
schoolmate  and  soon  was  sittinjjfdown  by  his  side 
in  his  own  room,  chatting  about  old  times.  His 
room— or,  rather,  rooms— I  shall  now  describe 
briefly. 

Let  me  now  criticize  ^our  Discussion. 


^ 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


I  wish  to  show  you  that  it  lacks  Unity  of 
Substance  and  Unity  of  Form.  Note, 
tlien,  that,  in  general,  you  are  describing- 
something,  not  ex pouinii no- or  explaining  it. 
You  should,  therefore,  follow  strictly  the 
method  of  description — the  orderly  state- 
ment of  fact.  You  do  not  do  so.  You  have 
closed  the  Introduction  of  your  theme  with 
the  words:  'His  room  I  shall  now  describe 
briefly.'  Really,  however,  you  open  the 
first  paragraph  of  your  Discussion  (p.  60) 
with,  as  it  were,  another  Introduction,  with, 
namely,  a  bit  of  explanation;  and  you  close 
the  first  paragraph  of  your  Discussion  with, 
as  it  is  called,  a  private  reflection.  The 
fundamental  matter  of  your  first  pa /agraph 
of  the  Discussion  you  have  literally  buried 
between  your  explanations  and  your  reflec- 
tions. You  have  made,  as  it  might  be 
called,  a  prose  '  sandwich.' 

In  order  that  the  first  paragraph  of  your 
Discussion  may  have  Unity  of  Substance 
and  Unity  of  Form  you  must  write  strictly 
from  the  point  of  vieiv  of  the  first  para- 


BH 


EXPANSION  AND  REVISION. 


69 


s  Unity  of 
n.  Note, 
describing 
plaining  it. 
strictly  the 
lerly  state- 

You  have 
:heme  with 
)w  describe 
u  open  the 
sion  (p.  60) 
iction,  with, 
id  you  close 
ussion  with, 
:tion.     The 
t  paragraph 
rally  buried 

your  reflec- 
it  might  be 

raph  of  your 
»f  Substance 
^rrite  strictly 
e  tirst  para- 


graph uf  your  Discussion — namely,  the 
external  appearance  of  your  old  school- 
mate's room.  In  your  original  composition 
I  have  indicated  the  point  of  view  by  inclos- 
ing in  brackets  the  irrelevant  matter  of  the 
first  paragraph  of  your  Discussion,  and  by 
leaving  unbracketed  the  relevant  matter. 
Once  you  eliminate  the  irrelevant  matter 
(bracketed),  the  first  paragragh  of  your 
Discussion  will  read  as  follows: 

Before  entering  my  old  classmate's  room  I 
was  struck  by  the  elegance  of  its  mere  exterior. 
The  doors  and  panellins='  were  of  the  heaviest 
dark  oak.  They  were  carved  and  turned  so  as  to 
bring  out  the  natural  beauties  of  dark  oak.  Above 
the  door  stood  the  transom,  half  open.  It  was  of 
stained  glass,  and  reflected  on  the  floor  of  the  hall 
the  name  of  the  dormitory.  At  the  left  of  the 
door,  attached  to  the  wall,  was  a  peculiar-looking 
device,  which  my  schoolmate  explained  was  the 
latest  invention  in  the  way  of  a  letter-box  and  a 
call-bell.  Underneath  the  call-bell,  in  a  rectangu- 
lar opening  protected  by  brass,  appeared  in  card 
the  name  of  the  occupant  of  the  room. 

Again:  Your  second  paragraph  (p.  61)  of 
your  Discussion  lacks  Unity  of  Substance 
and  Unity  of  Form.  It  lacks  Unity  of 
Substance  because  it  contains  ideas  other 


^ 


70 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


than  what  are  consistent  with  its  point  of 
view,  with,  namely,  the  point  of  view  of 
what  you  saw  just  as  you  were  entering 
your  old  schoolmate's  room.     Why  should 
you  put  into  this  paragraph  your  private 
reflections  about  the  Yale  '  colors '  or  the 
Harvard  students'  'daily,'  called  The  Crim- 
son?     These,    no  doubt,  were  naturally 
enough  suggested   to   your  mind  by    the 
flood  of  crimson  light  which  met  you    on 
entering  your  friend's  room.    But  all  sorts 
of  things  might  have  been  suggested:  and 
if  one  suggestion  was   relevant  from  the 
logical  point  of  view,  then  any  suggested 
idea  also  would  have  been   relevant.      In 
that    case— following    such    a    method    of 
description,  explanation,  and    reflection— 
you  would  not  have  an  essay  on  the  appear- 
ance   or    uses    of  a  student's    room,  but, 
surely,  a    'hodge-podge'    of  thought  and 
feelings.  Literary  form,  however,  demands 
that  you  deal  only  with  a  single S^^Q.,  lim- 
ited strictly  by  a  peculiar  point  of  vieiv. 
The  second  paragraph  of  your  Discussion, 


tin 
tla 
in( 
va 


D 


^ 


tof 
:  of 
•ing 
)uld 

ate 

the 
■iin- 
ally 

the 

on 

;orts 

and 

the 
isted 
In 
d  of 
on — 
pear- 

but, 

and 
lands 

lini- 
vteiv. 
ssion, 


EXPANSION   AND  KKVISION. 


7" 


therefore,  lacks  Unity  of  Form  because  it 
follows  neither  the  general  order  of  your 
whole  point  of  view,  nor  the  particular 
order  of  the  special  point  of  view  of  the 
second  paragraph  of  your  Discussion.  Your 
whole  point  of  view  is  a  description  of  a 
particular  student's  room;  your  special 
point  of  view  is  a  description  of  what  you 
saw  just  on  entering^  this  room.  Revised 
from  these  points  of  view  by  eliminating 
what  is  bracketed  in  your  original  compo- 
sition, the  second  paragraph  of  your  Discus- 
sion will  read  as  follows: 

As  I  entered  tny  friendV  room,  I  met  a  flood  of 
light  dimly  crimson  in  color.  This  ' effect '  waa 
due  to  the  crimson-stained  walls  and  the  crimson 
flags  which  hung  everywhere  around  the  room, 
indicating  that  my  friend  was  a  student  of  Har- 
vard College.{l) 

With  the  third  paragraph  (p.  6i )  of  your 
Discussion  your  point  of  view  has  again 


(1)  Strictly  viewed,  this  piurHKruph  should  end  with  the 
word  Toorii"  in  the  sfcond  sentence;  what  follows,  though  not 
Itself  descriptive,  anticipates  soiuothinx  that  will  be  inferred 
from  later  descriptive  details.  So  that  really  there  is  in  it  a 
violation  of  Unity  of  Substance.  I  shall  treat  the  matter  again 
under  my  chapters  on  Paragraphs  and  Houtences. 


^ 


72 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 


changed.     You  are  within  the  room:  con- 
sequently you  must  concern  yourself  only 
with  describing  its  internal  appearance. 
This  paragraph   in  contrast  with  the  first 
two  of  your  Discussion  lacks  in  a  new  way 
Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form. 
It  has  Unity  of  Substance,  until  you  close 
your    description    of   the    position    of   the 
piano.     At  that  point  you  put  into  your 
paragraph  a  statement  that  your  musical 
preferences  were   identical  with  those  of 
your    old    schoolmate,    that    you    asked 
him  to  play  for  you,  and  that  he  did  so 
with  excellent  execution  and  much  feeling. 
These  are  irrelevant  details.     In  order  to 
give  this  paragraph  Unity    of    Substance 
you  have  simply  to  revise  it  by  eliminating 
these  irrelevant  details,  inclosed  in  brackets 
in  your  original  composition. 

The  third  paragraph  of  your  Discussion, 
however,  lacks  Unity  of  Form  because 
you  have  not  followed  the  natural  or  logical 
order  in  arranging  the  second,  third,  and 
fourth  sentences.    You  would  have  been 


»«i1 


^ 


EXPANSION   AND  REVISION.  73 

at  least  more  lo<,ncal  if,  after  mentioning 
the  position  of  the  writinji-desk,  you  had 
then  described  what  was  on  the  desk  (as 
you  do  in  the  fourth  sentence),  and,  next, 
what  was  beside  or  near  the  desk  (as  you 
do  in  the  third  sentence)-! ' )  Logically, you 
first  see  the  desk  if  self:  then,  what  is  on  it; 
and,  finally,  what  is  beside  it  or  near  it. 
In  youi  own  presentation  of  the  facts  you 
invert  the  natural  order.  Revised,  then, 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  logical  order 
of  describing  the  facts,  your  third  paragraph 
will  have  Unity  of  Form.  Thus  revised, 
both  for  Unity  of  Substance  and  for  Unity 
of  Form,  the  third  paragraph  of  yonr 
Discussion  will  read  as  follows: 

Once  seated  I  noted  the  j;enerfil  fiirninhings  of 
my  friend's  room.  In  the  center  of  the  room  was 
a  large  .stniare  oak  deak.  On  the  desk  were  a  row 
of  school  books,  a  student-lamp,  a  jar  of  'Yale 
Mixture'  (tobacco),  three  bull-dog  smoking  pipes, 
and  an  enormous  '  stein  '  (or  beer-mug).  Beside 
the  desk  was  a  peculiar  invention,  forming  a 
sitting-chair,   a    lounging-chair.  and,  in  case   of 

(t)  The  pi-iiu-lplc  of  Coherence  (an  aspect  of  the  principle 
ofl'nlty  of  Fornil  will  he  explained  fully  and  iUustrateU 
under  my  i  hapters  on  I'uragraphs  and  Sentences. 


/^ 


74 


PRINCIPLKS  OK  STYLE. 


light  Hickneas,  a  siimll  writinjf-table.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  stood  a  small  escritoire;  and 
beside  it  a  beautiful  oak  book-case  with  j^lass  doors, 
containinjr  finely  bound  volumes  of  the  French 
poets,  the  Knylish  novelists,  and  the  Greek  and  the 
German  philosophers.  In  another  corner  stood 
a  beautiful  ffrand-concert  piano. 

The  fourth  paragraph  (p.  62)  of  your 
Discussion  lacks  unity  of  Substance  and  of 
Form.  You  have  opened  this  paragraph 
with  a  description  of  the  color  of  the  walls 
of  the  room,  and  of  the  paintings,  etchings, 
and  drawings,  hanging  on  the  walls.  When 
you  begin  your  description  of  the  paintings, 
naturally  you  have  suggested  to  you  other 
kinds  of  art  works,  such  as  photographs  or 
pictures;  and  you  remember  that  you  have 
forgotten  to  mention  those  you  saw  on  the 
piano  and  on  the  book-case.  The  piano  and 
book-case  were  more  or  less  described  in 
your  third  paragraph.  But  since  you  have 
forgotten  to  describe  in  that  paragraph  the 
photographs  or  pictures  resting  on  the 
piano  or  book-case,  you  slip  your  descrip- 
tion of  these  into  the  fourth  paragraph.  A 
part,   then,   of  what  should   naturally   or 


/^ 


one 
and 
)or8, 
snch 
ithe 
tood 

our 
dof 
aph 
alls 

hen 

ther 
IS  or 
lave 

the 
and 
d  in 
lave 
I  the 

the 
crip- 
i.  A 
/   or 


EXPANSION  AND  kK\MSION. 


7S 


logically    be    in   the    third    paragraph    is 
included  in  the  fourth.      Here  again,  there- 
fore, you  have  made  a  prose  sandwich.  To 
gain  unity  of  Substance  and  of  Form  in 
your  fourth  paragraph  you  must  eliminate 
the  matter  dealing  with  the  photographs 
resting  on  the  piano  or  on  the  book-case. 
If  you  care  to  use  the  matter  thus  elimin- 
ated, you  must  place  it  in  the  paragraph 
where  it  naturally  belongs.     Revised,  then 
from  the  point  of  view  of  my  criticism, 
your  fourth  paragraph  will  read  as  follows: 
The  walls  of  the  room,  as  I  aaid,  were  stained 
in  crimson;  and  on  them  himg  three  oil  paintings 
(a   Millet,  a   Bonhenr,  and  a   Whistler),  besides 
two  replicas  by  Sargent,  and  b y/  bbey.  and  several 
etchings  and   drawings.    On  the  wall,  over  the 
mantel-piece,  were  '  pictures'  of  the  Harvard  foot- 
ball team,  and  of  the  Mott-Haven  track  team,  as 
well  as  of  the  Pierian  Sodality,  and  the  Glee  Club. 
The  mantelpiece,  on  the  east  side  of  the  room, 
was    decorated    (V)   with  a  few    photographs    of 
friends,  classmates,  and  relatives,  a  bronze  cast 
(in  miniature)  of  French's  statue  of  John  Hpi  vard, 
flanked  on  each  side  by  plaster  casts  (in    minia-  < 
ture)  of  Herkomer's  Lion  and  Tiger.     The  fire- 
place underneath  the  mantel  presented  a  unique 
appearance.     Instead  of  having  on  the  hearth  the 
customary  short '  logs '  of  wood  ready  for  burning, 


^ 


76 


PRINCII'LI.S  OK  STVLK. 


and  the  cnrttomaiy  andirons,  thv  space  was  deco- 
rated with  a  pair  of  fine  moose-antlers.  Aj^iiinst 
one  of  the  hirjfe  forks  of  the  antlers  rested  a  pair 
of  snow-shoes,  and  against  the  other,  a  fine  Win- 
clie.ster  rifle. 

In  the  fifth  para<i;raph  of  your  Discussion 
you  chanjic  once  more  your  point  of  view. 
You  are  about  to  complete  your  description 
of  the    internal   appearance    of    your    old 
■  schoolmate's  room.     You  had  not  thou<;ht 
that  his  room  contained  'compartments,' 
until  your  friend  drew  aside  two  Turkish 
p'M-fieres,    hiding   the    sleeping-room,    the 
existence  of   which    you    had   not   before 
noted.  His  drawing  aside  of  the  portieres  at 
once  suggested  to  you  the  drawing  aside  of 
window  curtains,  and  this  reminded  you  that 
you  had  overlooked  the  description  of  the 
windows  and  their  furnishings  in  the  study 
or  living  room.     You  have  hardly  begun 
your    description   of    the    sleeping   room, 
before  you  insert  in  this  fifth  paragraph, 
logically  to  be  devoted  to  a  description  of 
the    sleeping- room,    a    wholly    irrelevant 
description  of  the  windows  of  the  living- 


roi 
wr 
int 
th( 
pa 

an 
wl 
vi( 

Wl 

to 
eli 
pi; 

wl 
'H 
of 

Wi 


eco- 
iii»t 
pair 
iVin- 


e\v. 
tion 

old 
i<;ht 
Its; 
kish 

the 
fore 
■is  at 
leof 
that 

the 
udy 
igun 
)om, 
aph, 
)n  of 
vant 


,-ing- 


KXPANSION  ANI>  RKVISION. 


77 


room  and  of  their  furnishings.  Vou  are 
writing;  down  in  the  same  parai;;raph  ideas 
ineonsistent  with  its  point  of  view.  In 
the  same  way,  therefore,  as  in  the  fourth 
paraijraph  you  violate  in  this  hfth  para- 
tjraph  the  principles  of  Unity  of  Substance 
and  of  Form,  by  introducing  there  matter 
which,  while  relevant  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  whole  composition,  is  not 
written  in  its  proper  place,  or  according; 
to  logical  order.  It  must  in  any  case  be 
eliminated,  and  if  to  be  used  at  all  must  be 
placed  in  its  proper  place  (the  fourth  para- 
graph). With  this  matter  eliminated 
your  fifth  paragraph  will  read  as  follows: 

Drawinyartute  two  benntif  ill  Turkirtli  porth'ri's, 
which  I  had  not  before  noted,  1113  friend  said— 
'  Here  is  my  HleepinK-room.'  Tlie  .sleepin}4;-rooni 
of  niy  8chooliiiate,  contraiy  to  my  anticipations*, 
was  phiinly  furnished.  It  contained  notliinjf  but 
one  ordinary  iron  bedstead,  a  ph«in  oak  'clothes- 
press'  and  a  h)w  '  dressinf>-tai)le'  also  of  plain 
oak,  with  an  oval  French-plate  mirror.  Kxcept 
for  a  bearskin  at  the  side  of  the  bed,  the  floor 
was  bare,  but  highly  iiolished. 

Having  now  done  with  the  description 
of   the   internal    appearance   of   your  old 


^ 


f§  PKIXCIPM:s  OK  STYM-.. 

schoolmate's  room,  in  the  sixth  and  seventh 
para<;raphs  of  your  Discussion  you  explain 
the  uses  of  your  friend's  room,  bcfjinnin^ 
with  the  study  or  Hrst  compartment  (sixth 
paragraph)  and  ending  with  the  sleeping- 
room    or   second    compartment    (seventh 
paragraph).     The  sixth  paragraph,  in  the 
same  way  as  the  other  paragraphs  of  your 
Discussion,  lacks  Unity  of  Substance  and 
of  Form.     You  begin  well  enough.     No 
sooner,    however,  have    you  begun    than 
you  insert  in  the  second  and  third  sentences 
of   this   paragraph  a    statement   of   your 
private  feelings  about  the  contrast  between 
the  luxuriousness  of   the  study  and    the 
plainness  of  the  sleeping-room— descriptive 
details  belonging  elsewhere.     No  sooner, 
too,    have  you    again  concerned   yourself 
with  explaining  the  uses  of  your  old  school- 
mate's room  than  on  learning  how  your 
old  schoolmate  there  entertains  his  friends 
and  relatives,  you  are  reminded  that  you 
have  forgotten  to  describe  in  the  proper 
paragraph  the  chafing  dish  and  the  punch 


bo> 

the 

log 

frit 

yoi 

of 

pre 

ter 

yoi 

of  I 

yoi 
1 
con 
par 
ii8e 
it,  1 
fie< 

Dii 

Fo 
in 


exit 
for 
silo 
fri« 
Th 


oCt^iiM 


^ 


■imi^JBdv^V^^h. 


KXI'ANSION   AND   Kr.VISKiN. 


70 


bowl  and  <;!asses.  You,  therefore,  heed 
the  reminder  and  put  into  a  paragraph 
h)^ically  dealing  with  the  uses  of  your 
friend's  room  some  details  helonjjinjif  to 
your  description  f)f  the  internal  appearance 
of  the  room.  You  ha\e  made  another 
prose  sandwich.  By  eliminating?  this  mat- 
ter, bracketed  in  your  original  composition, 
you  will  give  your  sixth  paragraph  Unity 
of  Substance  and  of  Form.  Thus  revised 
your  sixth  paragraph  will  read  as  follows: 

The  UHCH  tn  which  my  friendV  room  and  itH 
compartments  were  put,  were  viiriouH.  The  com- 
partment which  I  firrtt  entered  and  examineil  was 
tirted  winjply  as  a  wtndy  an(!  n8  a  living  room.  In 
it,  too,  male  friendw,  students  and  others,  were 
frequently  entertained   in  an  infornuil  way. 

The  seventh  or  last  paragraph  of  your 
Discussion  has  Unity  of  Substance  and  of 
Form.  It  appears  immediately  below  as 
in  the  original  composition: 

The  second  compartmeni  was  used  much  more 
a  »  a  dressing-room  than  as  u  sleeping-room.  It 
existed  really,  as  I  saw  on  the  day  after  my  visit, 
for  the  purpose  of  being  readily  transformed 
along  with  the  study  into  a  reception-room  for 
friends  and  relatives  on  Commencement  days. 
This  was  done  by  removing  the  desk  and  other 


wa;H.ir;iu.WKjiJ,iiih»J!yW'--WW*^''^iW'«'»'-^vTi  „'i;.<i.a.  mi.ii.Ui  iM-jeeamSSiSSm 


^ 


So 


l'UIN(ll'i.l>  (»K  STVl.r.. 


imonv.'n:'ni  pamplu-rnaliii  ..f  tlio  >*tn.l.v,  aiul  tlu" 
tu-(l  ihitf.T..r..in.l<lri--»r'in«tiil.U-()f  tlu-f'lfi'P'"':- 
r....m;  an.l  I'y  iiinMnR  a  lu-w  arrai.u.-inent  of 
ol.aiirA.cliaJin^;  di '»>  ""»  i>n.u-h-l...wl,  and  o(  i(u- 
piano  Tlir/>(>r^/<T<'.slaHtfa<lof  lianuiUKiiprijriit 
wi-ro  on  tlu'^f  ol•l•a^*ioMs  ^.-p'Tnti-.l  wi.lfly,  and 
tiK-  piiino  waH  plaii'<l  in  tlu-  Kl.-fpin«-n)otn. 

I  have  now  criticized  your  Introduction 
and   your  Discussion,  and  I  have  shown 
you  how  to  revise  them.     It  remains  for 
me  to  criticize  your   Conclusion  and  show 
you  how  to  revise   it.     Your  (*'v -^cription 
of  your   old    schoolmate's    room    is    now 
completed.      You    chose  to  add  in   your 
Conclusion  >our  reflection  or  the  value  of 
your  visit  to  your  old  schooln..'i<>'s  room. 
You  have  been  tauj(ht,  you  s.iy,  to  see  that 
utility  and  beauty  are  equa:!y  valuable  in 
man's  dwelling-pl'i^"^^     Just  as  you  have- 
thus   hiiically  concluded,  you  reflect  on 
your  own  misfortune  that  you  did  not  have 
the  same  advantages  of  education  and  social 
li     life  as  your  old  schoolmate  had:  and  you 
add  to  this  some  further  reflections  on  how 
you  would  have  lived  if  you  had  been  a 
student   at    Harvard.      You    might   have 


.  i^^m^m^M^m, 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

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Corporation 


^.> 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


^ 


1 


EXPANSION 'AND  REVISION. 


8i 


gone  on  in  this  way  forever.  Clearly, 
then,  your  last  paragraph  (Conclusion) 
lacks  Unity  of  Substance  and  of  Form. 
With  your  irrelevant  reflections  eliminated, 
your  Conclusion  will  read  as  follows: 

How  chaniiint;  my  visit  to  my  old  schoolmate's 
room  was  to  me.  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  on 
the  day  aftei  Commencement  I  left  for  home  fully 
convinced  that  utility  and  beauty  should  always 
be  equally  valued  in  our  dwelling-places. 

Although  I  have  now  criticized  paragraph 
by  paragraph  your  original  composition, 
and  you  yourself,  on  the  basis  of  my  criti- 
cisms, have  reconstructed  it  paragraph  by 
paragraph,  I  have  not  yet  done  with  criti- 
cism.    The  reason  is  plain.     I  have  so  far 
criticized  your  theme  as  a  simple  whole 
containing  a  series  or  a  number  of  related 
ideas.     I  must  now  criticize  your  theme 
as  a  whole  containing  groups  of  related 
ideas,  /.  e.,  as  a  thing  of  parts.     Before 
you  can  appreciate  my  criticism  or  apply 
it  you  must  understand  clearly  what  a  part 
really  is  in  artistic  composition. 

In  any  artistic  whole  there  are  two  kinds 


% 


I 


! 


HJWU*HJIUM'.U.U.II1IW 


^ 


8a 


PKINCIPI.KS  OF  STYLK. 


of  parts:  substantive  or  material  parts  and 
formal  or  logical  parts.     A  brick  dwellinj?- 
house,  e.  4'.,  is  a   thini;   of  parts,   in   two 
senses.     Every  brick  in  the  house,  as  well 
as  every  atom  of  each  brick,  is  a  part  of 
the    house.     Substantively    or    materially 
viewed,  a  brick  dwellinji^-house  is  a  thing 
occupying  so  much  space.     A  brick  dwell- 
ing-house, however,   is  known  to  us  as  a 
house^  not  by  its  materials,  and  not  merely 
by  its  uses,  but  by  its  form.    '  Mere,  e.  «-.,' 
I  say,  'is  a  brick   dwelling-house.      This 
part  is  the  body  of  the  house:  it  contains 
the    chief    rooms — the    dining-room,    the 
living-room,    the   drawing-room,   and  the 
library.     Yonder  are  the  sleeping-rooms. 
Here  is  the  kitchen.     And  yonder  is  the 
conservatory.'     How,  you  ask,  do  I  thus 
more  or  less  readily  distinguish  the  {formal) 
parts    of    a   brick    dwelling-house.^      By 
nothing  else  than  by  the  order  and  propor- 
tion in  the  grouping  oi  the  substantive  or 
material  parts  (bricks). 

Failing  fully  to  understand  me,  you  say: 


arts  and 
Iwellinj?" 
in  two 
,  as  well 
I  part  of 
aterially 

a  thing 
.•k  dwell- 

us  as  a 
t  merely 
re,  e.  «".,' 
;.      This 

contains 
om,    the 

and  the 
ig-rooms. 
er  is  the 
lo  I  thus 
[  formal^ 
se?  By 
1  propor- 
antive  or 

you  say: 


KXPANSION  AND  REVISION. 


!^.? 


'  Here  is  a  brick  dwelling-house.     It  is,  as 
it  were,  all  one  piece.     The  only  way  to 
distinguish  its  parts  is  by  their  uses.     This 
part  is  the  living-room;  this  part  contains 
the  sleeping-room;   and    this    part    is   the 
kitchen,  or  what  not.     But  the  uses  of  the 
parts  could  easily  have  been  interchanged, 
and  what  is  used  as  the  kitchen  could  have 
been  used  as  the  living-room,  and  so  on.' 
You  are  here,  let  me  tell  you,  confounding 
a  dwelling-place    as  a  whole  artistically 
composed  with  a  whole  as  a   thing  occu- 
pying so   much    space.      At  that    rate  a 
'  dug-out'  in  the  side  of  a  hill,  a  '  log-cabin,' 
a  '  stable,'  or  an  Indian  '  wigwam,'  would 
just  as  well  be  a  house.     All  these,  to  be 
sure,  ha^•e  '  form '  in  the  sense  of  occupying 
space,  and  of   having,    therefore,   'shape.' 
They    have    not,    however,    form,  in   the 
artistic    sense — namely,   such    order   and 
proportion  in  the  grouping  of  their  mater- 
ials that  the  whole  can  be  thus  distinguished 
from  the  parts  and  each  part  appear,  unmis- 
takably, as  this  or  that  part.     This  is  just 


^j-IMBWJMWtf^giSWfc^jWiWBBWJ 


84 


PRINClPLliS  OF  STVLK. 


what,  in  the  languajjje  of  the  arts  is  meant 
by  '  form ' — ^order  and  proportion  in  the 
grouping  of  materials  into  an  organic  whole. 
I  would  have  you  now  clearly  under- 
stand that  the  principal  parts  of  a  prose 
theme — namely,  the  Introduction,  the  Dis- 
cussion, and  the  Conclusion — ^are  formal 
parts.  When  I  say  that  they  are  formal 
parts,  I  mean  that  the  order  and  the  pro- 
portion in  t\\Go-roHping  of  the  substantive 
parts — words,  /.  <?.,  simple  ideas,  and  sen- 
tences and  paragraphs,  /.  <?.,  groups  of 
related  ideas — of  a  prose  theme  must  indi- 
cate whether  a  principal  part  is  the 
Introduction,  or  the  Discussion,  or  the 
Conclusion.  Writers  both  old  and  young 
fail  very  often  thus  to  indicate  unmistak- 
ably which  part  of  a  prose  theme  is  the 
Introduction,  or  the  Discussion,  or  the 
Conclusion.  The  question  that  I  now  put 
to  you  is:  Have  you  by  the  order  and 
proportion  in  the  grouping  of  your  ideas 
distinctly  indicated  the  principal  part  of 
your  theme  ? 


1 


1 


is  meant 
»n  in  the 
lie  whole, 
y  under- 
[  a  prose 
,  the  Dis- 
e  foniHil 
'e  formal 

the  pro- 
bstantive 
,  and  sen- 
groups  of 
nust  indi- 
t  is  the 
I,  or  the 
nd  young 
Linmistak- 
me  is  the 
1,  or  the 
I  now  put 
)rder  and 
our  ideas 
J  part  of 


' 


EXPANSION  AND  RKVISION. 


«5 


Your  revised  theme  as  a  thing  of  prin- 
cipal parts  is,  in  my  opinion,  constructed 
well  enough  according  to  the  principles  of 
Unity  of  Form  and  of  Unity  of  Substance. 
Your  revised  theme  contains  in  all  nine 
paragraphs.  Of  these,  one  constitutes  your 
Introduction,  and  one  your  Conclusion; 
while  the  remaining  seven  constitute  your 
Discussion.  Again:  Your  Discussion  (/.t?., 
the  chief  matter)  deals  strictly  with  a  piece 
of  description^  or  orderly  statement  of  fact : 
your  Introduction  explains  simply  and 
shortly  how  you  came  at  all  to  write  your 
piece  of  description:  and  your  Conclusion 
adds  a  short  and  simple  reflection  on  the 
'  lesson '  you  have  learned  from  what  you 
saw  and  have  just  described.  In  spatial 
position,  in  logical  order,  in  substance,  and 
in  the  proportion  of  the  grouping  of  the 
paragraphs  your  revised  theme  has  logical 
parts,  and  plainly  distinguishes  the  Intro- 
duction, the  Discussion  and  the  Conclusion. 
In  every  way,  both  as  a  whole  and  as  a 
thing  of   parts,  your  revised    theme    has 


^ 


S6 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form. 

Now  that  I  have  done  with  my  criticisms, 
it  will  be  well  for  you  to  compare  your 
oritjinal  theme  with  your  revised  theme. 
By  thus  carefully  comparin^if  the  one  with 
the  other  you  will,  I  believe,  see  or  feel  for 
yourself  that  your  revised  theme  is,  as  a 
piece  oUirtistic  composition,  much  hettei\^) 
than  the  orij^inal.  The  revised  composi- 
tion appears  immediately  below: 
Thk  Rkvisko  Composition: 

Kxactly  one  month  from  the  present  moment  of 
writin>>"  I  received  an  invitation  from  an  old  school- 
mate, who  wart  about  to  graduate  from  Harvard, 
to  attend  the  Commencement  exercises  on  June 
27th  of  the  present  year.  I  accepted  readily  my 
old  schoolmate's  invitation.  Followinfr  his  advice 
I  went  a  day  or  two  earlier  than  absolutely  neces- 
sary. The  day  of  my  arriving  at  Cambridge  I 
spent  in  examining  the  Harvard  buildings, 
especially  the  dormitories.  1  strolled  through 
the  halls  of  oneof  thedormitories,  and  was  struck 
by  the  unique  appearance  and  varied  uses  of  the 
students'  rooms.  By  accident  I  ran  into  my  old 
schoolmate  and  soon  was  sitting  down  by  his  side 


(It  "  The  truth  Is  that  in  rhetoric,  us  dlstliisiulshed  from 
gruniiiiar,  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  questions  that  arise 
concern  not  right  or  wrong,  but  better  or  worse."— VVendeU'» 
EntHW*  Cnmposition,  Chap.  I,  p.  2. 


of  Form, 
criticisms, 
jare  your 
eel  theme. 
;  one  with 
or  feel  for 
le  is,  as  a 
:h  betfeii^) 
composi" 


t  moment  of 
loldrtcliool- 
m  Harvard, 
3es  on  June 

readilj-  \\\y 
jr  his  advice 
Intely  necea- 
ambridjre  I 
buildinjjs, 
ed  through 
1  waa  struck 
]  uae«  of  the 

into  111  J'  old 
n  l)y  his  side 

lii^uishod  from 
itioti.-s  that  arise 
■SI'." — Wt'iiduU's 


• 


• 


EXI'ANSION   AND  R?:VISION. 


87 


in  his  own  room,  diattinjj  about  old  times.  His 
room  -or,  rather,  rooms  I  sliall  now  descrilie 
brietly. 

Before  enterinjf  my  old  classmate's  room  I 
was  striu'k  l)y  the  ele^jance  of  it  mere  exterior. 
The  doors  and  panellings  were  of  the  heaviest 
ilark  oak.  They  were  carved  and  turned  so  as  to 
briny  out  the  natural  Iteautiesof  dark  oak.  Above 
the  door  stood  tlie  transom,  fiaJf  open.  It  was  of 
stained  glass,  and  reflected  on  the  floorof  thehall 
the  name  of  the  dormitory.  At  the  left  of  the 
door,  atlachetl  to  the  wall,  was  a  peculiar-looking 
device,  which  my  schoolmate  explained  was  the 
latest  inventi«)n  in  the  way  of  a  letter-box  and  a 
call-bell.  Underneath  the  call-bell,  in  a  rectangu- 
lar opening  jirotected  by  brass,  appeared  in  card 
the  name  of  the  occupant  of  the  mom. 

As  I  entered  my  friend's  room,  I  met  a  flood  of 
light  dimly  crimson  in  color.  This  'effect'  was 
due  to  the  crimson-stained  walls  and  the  crimson 
flags  which  hung  everywhere  around  the  room, 
indicating  that  my  friend  was  a  student  of  Har- 
vard College. 

Once  seate<l  I  noted  the  general  furnishings  of 
m}'  friend's  room.  In  the  center  of  the  room  waa 
a  large  square  oak  desk.  On  the  desk  were  a  row 
of  school  books,  a  student-lamp,  a  jar  of  'Yale 
Mixture '  (tobacco),  three  bull-dog  smoking  pipes, 
and  an  enormous  'stein'  (or  beer-mug).  Beside 
the  desk  was  a  peculiar  invention,  forming  a 
sitting-chair,  a  lounging-chair,  and,  in  case  of 
light  sickness,  a  small  writing-table.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  stood  a  small  escritoire;  and 
beside  it  a  beautiful  oak  book-case  with  glass  doors, 


HS 


I'RINCFl'l.r.S  OF  STVLK. 


lontiiiiiinu  fini-ly  Ixiuiid  voliimcr*  of  (In-  Fn-iicli 
l»( Ids, till-  Kim:lisli  ni)Vflir»tr>,iiii(l  tlu'ClrffU  iiiulthe 
(iL-rmim  pliilosopla-iv.  In  iiiiotluT  roriuT  j^tood 
ii  hi'iiiitifiil  ^niiKl-conci'il  j>iiin(). 

riu' wiillr*  of  llie  room.iis  I  siiid.  wen- ntniiu'd 
in  iTiiiir*on;  and  on  tlu-in  liuny  tliriM-  oil  paintinjit* 
(h    Millet,   ii    Honlieur.  and    a    Wliistk-r).   l)ft*i<U's 
two  replira(<  by  Sargent. and  liyAbhey.and  sevenil 
etriiin«»  and   drawinjix-     <  »«i   <l>t^  wall,   over   the 
nianti'l-piei'i',  wi-iv  '  i)irtnri'f<'  of  the  Harvard  foot- 
ball team,  and  of  the  Motl-Maven  traek  team,  as 
well  art  of  the  I'ierian  Sodnlitj',  and  the  (dee  Clnb. 
The  niantelpieee,  on  the  eaut  wide  of  the  room, 
wart    decoratefl    (Vi   with   a  few    photouraphrt    of 
friendrt,  elartrtniatert,  an«l  relativert,  a   bronxe  eartt 
(in  miniature)  of  Freneh'rt  rttatue  of  John  Harvard, 
flanked  on  each  rtide  by  piaster  carttH  (in    minia- 
ture) of    Herkomer'rt  Lion   and  Ti^er.     The   fire- 
place underneath  the  mantel  presented  a  uni(|ne 
appearance.     Instead  of  havin^r  on  the  hearth  the 
curttomary  short '  lofjfs '  of  wood  ready  for  b\jrnin>;, 
and  the  customary  andirons,  the  space  wart  deco- 
rated with  a  pair  of  tine  moorte-antlerrt.     .Ajjainst 
one  of  the  lar;;e  forks  of  the  antlers  rested  a  pair 
of  snow-shoes,  and  ajjfainst  the  other,  a  fine  Win- 
chester rifle. 

Drawinfjaside  two  beautiful  TurKirth/Jor^/cre.s, 

which  I  had  not  before  noted,  my  friend  said— 
'  Here  is  my  sleeping-room."  The  sle.'ping-room 
of  my  schoolmate,  contrary  to  my  anticipations, 
\vn!->  plainly  furnished.  It  contained  tiothinj?  but 
one  ordinary  iron  bedstead,  a  plain  oik  'clothes- 
press'  and  a  low  'dreasinj^-table'  al^o  of  plain 
oak,  with  an   oval  French-plate  niinor.     Except 


ihv  Krt'iicli 
■fi'U  iiiul  the 
)rm'r  f^tooil 

vrv  Mtniiu'd 
1  paintinurt 
•r),   l)ft«i<U's 
iind  (AL'venil 
I,   over  tl>e 
irviird  foot- 
ek  team,  as 
■(Mee  C'liil). 
tlie   room, 
)y;ra|)li!<    of 
bronze  east 
m  Harvard, 
4  (in    minia- 
.     The   fi re- 
ed a  iini(|iie 
13  liearth  the 
for  burning, 
•e  wart  deeo- 
•rt.     Ajjainst 
ertted  a  pair 
,  a  fine  Win- 

ili  portieres, 
riend  rtaid— 
!'.'pinj>"-room 
itioipations, 
tiothinjy  btit 
);ik  '  clothea- 
Ijo  f)f  phun 
jor.     Kxcept 


t 


i 


KXI'AN'SION    .\\l>   KKVISION. 


«9 


for  a   Ix-arnkin   at    the   r^ide  of   the   lied,   tlie   thx.r 
wax  liare,  t)iit  hi;;ld\    polished. 

Tlie  iirte?*  to  whieh  \\\y  friendV  room  and  itr* 
oomparlmentrt  were  put,  were  various.  Theeom- 
jiartment  whieh  I  first  entered  and  examined  was 
use<l  simply  as  a  studs'  and  as  a  living'  room.  In 
It,  too,  male  friends,  students  and  others,  were 
fre(piently  entertaiiie(l    in  an  informal  way. 

The  seeond  eompartment  was  used  miu'h  more 
as  a  dressing-room  than  as  a  slee|)iiiyf-rooui.  It 
e.xisted  really,  as  I  saw  on  the  da^'  after  my  visit. 
for  the  purpose  of  heiny"  rea(lil>-  transformed 
ahmy  with  the  study  into  a  reeepti«)n-room  for 
friends  and  relatives  on  Comrneneement  da\s. 
This  was  done  1>.\'  removing  the  desk  and  other 
inconvenient  paraphernalia  of  the  study,  and  the 
l)ed,cliitTonier,and  dressinj;  tahleof  the  sleepiny- 
room;  and  hy  making  a  new  arrangement  of 
chairs,  chafinjjf  dish  and  punch-howl,  and  of  the 
I)iano.  The  por</crc.s  instead  of  hanyinjf  uprijiht 
were  on  these  occasions  sejjarated  widely,  and 
the  jiiano  waw  placed  in  the  sleepinjf-room. 

How  charminir  my  visit  to  my  old  schoolmate's 
room  was  to  me,  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  on 
the  day  afterCommencement  I  left  for  home  fully 
convinced  that  utility  and  beauty  should  always 
be  ecpially  valued  in  our  dwellinjf-places. 

I  have  now  tauj^lit  you  how  ///  getteral 
to  plan^  to  expand^  and  to  revise  a  prost- 
theme,  according;  to  the  principles  of  Unity 
of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form.  So  far 
I  have  intentionally  dealt  only  with  general 


^ 


<»o 


PKIXCII'LKS  OK  STVLI'l. 


matters:  with  the  ^a-neral  plan  of  the 
substanee  and  form  of  a  prose  theme,  with 
the  principal  or  formal  parts  of  a  prose 
theme,  with  the  general  meaning  of  the 
principles  of  prose  composition,  and  with 
the  jj;eneral  method  of  applying  these  prin- 
ciples. In  the  remaining  chapters  of  this 
textbook  I  shall  instruct  you  regarding  the 
nature  and  function  of  the  subordinate  or 
substantive  parts  of  a  prose  theme,  namely, 
the  parts  called  paragraphs,  sentences,  and 
words,  and  regarding  the  more  specilic 
meaning  of  the  principles  of  Unity  of  Sub- 
stance and  Unity  of  P'orm  and  the  more 
specific  method  of  applying  these  principles 
to  the  composing  of  paragraphs,  sentences, 
and  words,  into  a  well-ordered  and  finished 
whole.  My  general  instruction,  you  must 
remember,  is  to  be  used  in  prevising  your 
original  compositions;  my  more  specific 
instruction  is  to  be  used  only  \x\' revising 
your  original  compositions. 


/' 


in  of  the 
ii'iiK',  with 
f  a  prose 
n^  of  the 

and  with 
these  prin- 
ers  of  this 
arding  the 
rdinate  or 
e,  namely, 
:ences,  and 
■e  specitic 
ty  of  Sub- 

the  more 
:  principles 
sentences, 
nd  finished 
,  you  must 
is/ug-  your 
re  specific 
w'  revising 


CHAPTER  III. 

I'AKAI'.KAPIIS;  THKIR  NATl'KK  AND  Kl' SC  I'loN.  -Ill  K  CON- 
STUICI  ION  OK  l'AkA<!RAril>:  I'K  I  NCI  PIKS  AN1>  MKIIInlls. 
—  I'MK  l-AKAiiKAI'll  AS  AN  I  M>KI'KM>E  \  f  WIKU.K;  IIIK 
I'KINCII-l.KS  AND  MKTMDDS  i>K  INTKKNALt.V  AKKANOINU 
ITS  I'AKTS.— TIIK  PARACKAril  AS  A  RKI.ATKD  \\  IIDIK : 
THK  I'RINCII'I.KS  AND  MK.TlloDS  i)K  I  NTKRCDNN  EC  TINr. 
PARAC.RAl'H   WITH    I'ARAHRArll. 

Paragraphs:  Nature  and  Function. — 
In  dealing  with  the  general  substance 
and  form  of  a  prose  theme  I  distinguished 
for  you  its  principal  parts,  naming  them 
respectively  the  Introduction,  the  Discus- 
sion, and  the  Conclusion.  These  parts,  I 
explained,  are  in  nature  formal,  not  sub- 
stantive; and  their  function  or  business  is 
to  introduce,  discuss,  and  conclude  the 
total  number  of  ideas  a  writer  may  v\  ish 
to  express  regarding  any  topic  of  discourse 
Now  every  prose  theme  contains  also  sub- 
ordinate parts,  called  paragraphs,  sentences, 
and  words.  These  are  the  snbsfantive 
parts  of  a  prose  theme — of  the  theme  as  a 


^ 


9a 


PKINCIPLKS  OK  STYLK. 


whole  and  of  each  of  its  principal  parts: 
each  principal  part  must  contain  a  number 
of  ideas  expressed  in  a  number  of  para- 
graphs, sentences,  and  words.  In  ^i^eneral 
it  is  the  business  or  function  of  tlie  sub- 
ordinate or  substantive  parts  of  a  prose 
theme  to  develop  the  ideas  of  the  principal 
or  formal  parts.  Each  subordinate  part, 
however,  has  its  own  special  nature  and 
function.  In  treatinu^  these  I  begin  with 
the  more  complex,  with,  namely,  para- 
graphs.(') 

In  explaininii:  to  you  the  nature  and  func- 
tion of  paragraphs  I  might  follow  the  method 
most  textbooks  of  Rhetoric:  I  might  simply 
give  you  a  lexicographer's  definition  of  a 
paragraph.     You  have  but  to  read  a  few 


I 


(1)  The  iiiOMtseiLslliliMiiid  luminous  trt'iitiiu'titi)f  tlio  imturi- 
iiiiil  tum-tionof  piii'iiuriiphs,  iiiidof  the  pi'inciples  of  iirtlstlciilly 
composing  pani^'rtiphs  Is  to  he  found  In  Wendell's  KnglMi 
fiimpoi'ition,  Chiip.  IV.  !«iM)tt  &  Denney's  Pftragiaph-IViUiiw  Is 
on  the  whole  too  elahorate  and  refined  In  Its  analyses  to  he  of 
general  practical  value  In  composition.  It  Pontalns.  however, 
many  valuahle  Ideas,  and  a  short  chaptBr,  excellent  in  suh- 
stance.  on  the  Theory  of  the  I'aniKraph.  Lewis'  The.  Ht»ti>rii of 
tlu:  Knulifh  Par<i<;raph  Is  an  excellent  treatment  of  the  orljrln 
and  development  of  the  puraRraph. 


pal  parts: 
a  number 
-  of  pa ra- 
in t^eneral 
the  sub- 
>f  a  prose 
■t  principal 
tiate  part, 
lature  and 
)egin  with 
ely,    para- 

3  and  func- 
he  method 
jfht  simply 
/Y/of?  of  a 
-ead  a  few 


iitoftliy  nature 
i  of  ai-tlstlciilly 
ndt'll's  KngU»h 
iraph-H'iffrni;  Is 
iialysi's  to  l>o  of 
tains,  however, 
ct'lleiit  in  siil)- 
'  The  HUtorii  of 
It  of  the  orljrln 


PARAGRAPHS. 


93 


of  such  definitions  to  see  for  yourself  that 
they  really  explain  nothini?,  or,  at  any  rate, 
mean  very  little  to  any  one  who  would 
understand  what  the  definitions  in  rhetorics 
and  in  dictionaries  say.  What,  e.  o:,  do  the 
followin<i^  definitions  of  a  para^^raph  con\ev 
to  you,  or  explicitly  mean  ?  "A  paratrraph 
is  a  unit  of  discourse  developini^^  a  sinijle 
idea";  or,  "a  connected  series  of  sentences 
constituting:  the  development  of  a  single 
topic";  or,  "a  u^roup  of  sentences  that  are 
closely  related  in  thought";  or,  "a  collec- 
tion, or  series,  of  sentences,  with  unit}'  of 
purpose";  or,  "a  part  which,  during  the 
process  of  composition,  has  defined  itself 
as  one  distinct  stage  in  the  progress  of  the 
essay";  or,  "a  whole  composition  in  min- 
iature". All  these  definitions  as  definitions 
are  vain,  because  they  are  too  abstract  and 
summary,  and  thus  fail  to  give  a  reader  a 
precise  and  explicit  idea  (or  'picture')  of 
what  a  paragraph  is.  In  view  of  this  fact 
I  believe  that  it  is  best  for  me  to  describe 
the  exienial  appearance  of  paragraphs,  to 


<H 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLK. 


explain  Iio-d'  they  came  at  all  to  exist,  and 
thus  to  show  forth  their  uses. 

Examine  a  page  or  two  of  any  artistically 
composed  book  or  essay:  and  note  simply 
and  solely  what  you  see.  First  of  all:  You 
see  a  rectangular  black  mass  of  'print' 
lying  within  a  rectangle  of  white  paper. 
The  rectangle  of  print  so  lies  upon  the 
page  as  to  be  bounded  on  all  sides  by  what 
printers  call  a  'gutter,'  /.  <■.,  unprinted 
(or  white)  marginal  or  rectangular  spaces 
of  more  or  less  width.  Again:  You  see 
the  print  on  the  page  running  in  parallel 
lines.  Once  more:  You  see  a  number  of 
lines  of  print  thus  running  on,  which  begin 
'flush'  with  one  inner  margin  of  the  gutter 
and  which  end  with  the  opposite  inner  mar- 
gin of  the  gutter.  Finally:  You  see,  as  they 
are  called,  'indentations'  here  and  there  in 
the  print.  That  is  to  say:  Every  well  com- 
posed page  of  a  book  or  an  essay  does  not 
appear  as  a  homogeneous  mass  of  parallel 
lines  of  print  beginning  always  and  strictly 
at   one  inner   margin   of.  the  gutter   and 


^ 


exist,  and 

rtistically 
>te  simply 
^all:  You 
of  'print' 
ite  paper. 

upon  the 
jvS  by  what 
unprinted 
lar  spaces 

You  see 
n  parallel 
lumber  of 
lich  begin 
the  gutter 
inner  mar- 
ee,  as  they 
id  there  in 
well  com- 
Y  does  not 
)f  parallel 
nd  strictly 
utter   and 


PARAGRAPHS. 


95 


ending  always  and  strictly  at  the  opposite 
inner  margin  of  the  gutter.  Mere  and  there, 
at  considerable  distances  apart,  the  rectan- 
gle of  parallel  lines  is  broken  by  a  line  which 
does  not  begin  'flush'  with  the  inner  margin 
of  the  gutter,  but  which  is  followed  by  a 
number  of  lines  beginning  and  ending  flush. 
These  indentations  thus  mark  off  or  differ- 
entiate a  written  or  printed  page  into 
considerable  masses  or  groups  of  words  or 
sentences.  In  this  way  one  may  recognize 
the  external  appearatice  of  paragraphs. 

Unfortunately  such  indentations  of  a 
printed  page,  which  should  mean  the  begin- 
ning of  a  paragraph,  are  not  always  the 
beginning  of  paragraphs.  The  reason  is 
that  the  writer  (or  printer)  does  not  under- 
stand what  a  paragraph  really  is.  With 
many  writers  the  indentations  in  a  written 
(or  printed)  page — the  paragraphings  so- 
called — are  based  on  mere  caprice,  or  on 
mere  utility,  or  on  vague  aesthetic  feeling, 
and  not,  as  they  should  be,  on  the  way  the 
human  mind  works  when  it  thinks  logically. 


i 


^ 


96 


I'RINCIPLlilS  OF   STYLE. 


It  is  important,  then,  to  understand  how 
parajjfraphs  came  to  exist  at  all,(') 

To  the  bodily  eye,  I  said  (pp.  6-9),  a 
piece  of  prose  style  appears  as  smaller 
and  larger  tiroups  of  little  black  marks. 
The  existence  of  the  groups — at  least  of 
the  larger  groups,  called  paragraphs — is 
explained,  as  I  said,  on  the  ground  that 
men's  thoughts  are  very  seldom,  if  at  all, 
simple  ideas,  but  usually  a  coiiiplex  of 
relaleii  ideas.  Words,  no  doubt,  are  suffic- 
ient to  express  simple  ideas;  and  sentences, 
to  express  related  ideas.  So  then,  you 
ask,  why  should  paragraphs  exist  at  all. 
The  answer  is  that,  first  on  the  physical 
side,  a  sentence  is  not  a  number  of  words 
connected  in  space  as  one '  couples '  railroad 
cars;  or  that,  secondly  on  the  psychological 
side,  thought  (or  consecutive  thinking)  is 


(II  Tliotlu'oiy  of  iwiHutnplilii).',  or  tlie  .Uisttflcation  of  Its 
cxlisti'nci',  Is  based  on  tlic  psychology  of  Ihf  nature  of  thought 
In  Bcnoral.  and  of  voluntary  thinking  In  particular.  The  most 
luminous  and  readable  treatment  of  these  matters  is  to  be 
found  In  .lames'  P» /Ticiples  of  Pn|/ch<)l(i(;i/.  Vol.  I.  Chaps.  IX,  XI, 
XIII.  XIV,  and  Vol.  II,  Chap.  XXVI;  or  In  his  Psyehologv: 
Hrlefa  (Dtirxe,  Chaps.  XI.  XIII.  XV,  XVI,  and  XXVI. 


1 


• 


^ 


rAKAC.KArHS. 


97 


and  how 

) 

p.  6-9),  a 
;  smaller 
k  marks. 
i  least  of 
raphs — is 
lund  that 
if  at  all, 
iiipJex  of 
are  sutfic- 
>entences, 
hen,  you 
ist  at  all. 
I  physical 
of  words 
'  railroad 
:hological 
inking)  is 


tflcation  of  Its 
ire  of  tliouKlit 
lur.  The  most 
Iters  is  to  t)t! 
:'hBp8.  IX,  XI, 
1m  Psyehology: 
XVI. 


' 


not  a  number  of  simple  ideas  connected 
by  one's  arbitrarily  taking  a  number  of 
them  and  somehow  '  coupling '  them  by 
thinki)io-  info  them  certain  relations.  The 
truth  is  that  in  thinking  about  any  object 
one  simply  keeps  one's  mind  on  the  object — 
attends — and  without  any  effort  or  orig- 
inality on  one's  part  the  object  appears  to 
have  aspects^  or  one's  thought,  as  they  say, 
simply  develops  '\x\  groups  oi  related  ideas. 
Let  me  put  the  matter  concretely. 

Suppose  that,  e.  o.,  you  see  a  '  speck  ' 
off  on  the  hori/on.  You  say:  'What  is  that 
— a  bird,  or  a  man.'''  You  keep  watching 
it:  the  longer  you  attend  to  the  object,  the 
sooner  it  appears  as  a  definite  object.  '  That 
looks  like  a  man,'  you  say:  'I  see  \\\'t,  heaii . 
No,  I  don't  believe  it  is.  Yes,  it  is:  for  I  see 
his  arms  swaying  and  his  legs  a-going.  I 
must,  however,  be  wrong:  for  now  I  can't 
see  anything  more  than  a  black  mass.  Oh, 
yes,  it  is  a  man:  he  is  sitting  down,  and  I 
can  distinguish  his  head,  body,  arms,  and 
legs.' 


"i 


/^ 


n 


9S 


PHIXCIPLKS  OF  STYLK, 


Now  just  as  the  speck  on  the  horizon 
eventually  appeared  to  be  something  of 
ih'finife  parts,  because  you  had  simply  kept 
on  looking  at  it,  until  its  parts  defined 
themselves,  so  in  pure  thinking  about  an 
object  simple  attention  to  the  object  of 
thought  will  compel  it  to  appear  in  parts,  or 
one's  thoughts  about  it  to  appear  \x\  groups 
of  related  ideas,  corresponding  to  the  aspects 
of  the  object.  Suppose  that,  e.  g.,  you 
have  been  asked  to  write  a  theme  on  'A 
Student's  Room  in  Harvard  College.'  You 
have  not,  as  you  say,  thought  about  the 
matter;  but  having  seen  a  student's  room 
you  will  attempt  it.  So  you  begin  to  think 
about  a  student's  room.  At  first  your 
thought  is  vague  or  nebulous:  you  have 
not,  it  seems  to  you,  a  single  idea  on  the 
matter.  You,  however,  keep  on  thinking 
about  a  student's  room:  and  soon  enough 
you  have  a  'picture'  of  the  external  appear- 
ance of  the  room  (a  group  of  related  ideas), 
then  a  'picture'  of  the  internal  appearance 
of  the  room  (a  group  of  related  ideas),  and 


'^.T'irW'SwwwfcCT^J^WiiS^KS^l'J.ic^iM^i^'a^  'H»»Ullf!ff;  a-;  ggjl? 


^ 


le  horizon 
lething  of 
mply  kept 
s  defined 
about  an 
object  of 
1  parts,  or 

he  aspects 

?.    i,'-.,    you 

me  on  'A 
;ge.'  You 
about  the 
:nt's  room 
in  to  think 
first  your 
you  have 
ea  on  the 
1  thinking 
)n  enough 
lal  appear- 
ted  ideas), 
ppearance 
deas),  and 


'\m»ii»ni.wfx».^'  vKli.^jiPtffjedii''^ 


PARAGRAPHS. 


9Q 


finally,  a  'menior}'  of  the  uses  to  which 
the  room  was  put  (a  group  of  related  ideas). 
These  are  natural  divisions  of  your  thought: 
the}'  are,  too,  exclusive  divisions.  All 
men  think  as  you  do:  they  attend  to  an 
object  of  thought;  and,  as  they  attend,  the 
object  appears  in  aspects,  or  one's  thought 
naturally  forms  itself  into  groups  of  related 
ideas,  corresponding  to  these  aspects. 

I  need  not  add  anything  more  to  what 
I  have  said,  in  order  to  show  forth  the 
/^s(;.v  of  paragraphs.  Paragraphs  e.xist  not 
merely  because  the  indentations  in  the 
printed  page  make  what  is  written  easier 
to  read,  or  merely  because  the  indentations 
make  the  page  look  prettier;  but  really 
because  paragraphs  represent  to  the  eye 
steps  or  phases  in  one's  thinking  about  any 
object,  and  thus  enable  a  reader  to  distin- 
guish the  order  and  logic  in  a  writer's 
statement  of  his  ideas.  In  other  words: 
paragraphs  exist  in  order  to  help  a  reader 
re-think  a  writer's  thoughts.  Do  not  forget, 

then,  that  if  your  own  thought  about  any 
LofC. 


^ 


«r- 


100 


I'KIN'CIIM.KS  OK  STVI.I'. 


'  i  i 


subject  of  discourse  has  lotjical  order,  it 
must  have  parts,  and  that  in  artistic  com- 
position these  parts  must  be  made  to  appear 
in  jj^roups  of  ideas,  called  para*;raphs. 

The  G)nstruction  of  Paragraphs:  Prin- 
ciples and  Methods.  -Now  that  I  ha\e 
shown  you  somethinyof  the  ijeneral  nature 
and  function  of  paraijraphs,  I  must  show 
you,  further,  what  principles  and  methods 
you  must  employ  in  artistically  construct- 
injj  paragraphs.  These  principles  are  Unity 
of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form. 

Paragraphs  are  substantive  parts  exist- 
ing within  the  principal  or  formal  parts  of 
a  prose  theme.  As  substantive  parts 
paragraphs  must  contain  a  number  of 
related  ideas,  limited  strictly  by  a  special 
point  of  view;  must  have,  that  is,  unity 
of  Substance.  Although  in  the  case  of 
paragraphs  unity  of  Substance  thus  means 
precisely  what  it  means  in  the  case  of  a 
whole  composition,  I  shall  here  explain  the 
nature  of  Unity  of  Substance  more  speci- 
fically, and  fully  illustrate  it. 


t 


f 


■'LiiajniKM.^  ,'■&... 


'ttwt!Tawafm'mijaiig*ww 


I'AKAC.kAl'llS, 


lot 


1  order,  it 
tistic  com- 
s  to  appt'iir 
•aphs. 
phs:  Prin- 
at  I  have 
i'ral  nature 
nust  show 
d  methods 
construct- 
>  are  Unity 
n. 

larts  exist- 
lal  parts  of 
itive  parts 
lumber  of 
y  a  special 
t  is,  unity 
he  case  of 
thus  means 
;  case  of  a 
explain  the 
nore  speci- 


T 


Revert  to  your  oriijinal  composition  on 
'A  Student's  Room  in  Harvard  Colle«;e/ 
You  remember  that  I  criticized  it,  and 
instructed  you  how  to  revise  it.  The  revision 
consisted  for  the  most  part  in  simply  dim- 
inatinjj;  from  each  p.irajxraph  ideas  which 
were  naturally  s//o<>es/iu/  to  your  mind  in 
writin«j;  3'our  orijjinal  composition,  but 
which  were  irrelevant  to  your  limited  or 
special  point  ofvieu\  as,  e.  o\,  the  point  of 
view  of  the  external  appearance  of  j-our 
student's  room,  or  of  its  internal  appear- 
ance, or  of  its  nses.  When  you  were, 
supposedly,  or  logically,  dealin*i[  with  a 
description  of,  say,  the  external  appearance 
of  the  room  of  a  student  in  Harvard  Col- 
lege, what  could  be  more  natural,  as  the 
psychology  of  Association  will  explain  to 
you,  than  that  you  should  have  suggested 
to  you  the  external  appearance  of  your 
own  room  or  of  the  room  of  a  student  in 
Yale  College:  and  what  more  natural  than 
that  you  should  insert  in  your  piece  of 
description  the  suggestions  that  came  to 


I02 


PKINCIPLKS  OF  STVLK 


you?(')  You  did  insert  the  sii<;ii;estions 
that  came  to  you;  and  instead  of  describing 
strictly  the  vxfcrn(il  appearance  of  the 
room  of  a  student  in  Harvard  Colle*je, 
and  thus  expressing  a  single  idea  in  the 
paragraph  logically  devoted  to  a  single 
topic,  you,  as  it  were,  '  dumped  '  into  the 
paragraph  the  ideas  of  all  sorts  that  hap- 
pened at  the  moment  to  be  in  your  mind. 
Your  original  composition  thus  contained, 
certainly,  a  number  of  related  ideas;  it  was, 
however,  on  fair  way  to  containing  any 
number  of  related  ideas;  and  strictly  viewed 
this  meant  a  lioifo-e- podge  rather  than 
a  luiify  of  ideas.  You  will  the  better 
understand  the  difference  between  these 
two,  if  I  illustrate  it  by  a  couple  of  para- 


(II  I  ciiniiot  lii'i't'  piiiiMC  to  explain  tin*  psyclioloKy  i)f  Suji- 
(ffstloii  (AssiM-lutionl.  I  limy  Hiiy,  however,  that  the  teacher  of 
KiiKllNh  ('uiiiposiltloii  will  never  succeed  in  hIiowWik  the  student 
of  prose  style  what  ITnlty  <if  Substance  really  means,  until  he 
or  she  uial<es  It  plain  that  the  human  mind,  so  far  as  loiilcal 
tliiiil^ln);  Is  concerned.  Is,  asthe  Culviidsts  say  of  the  huniun 
heart,  -totally  depraved.'  I  refer  to  the  mental  phenomenon, 
us  .lames  calls  It.  of  totat  reenll.  See  .lames'  I'KiichiiUinu:  IMe.fer 
Courtie.  Chap.  XVI.  pp.  'JiW-ani ,  for  a  luminous  and  readable 
explanation  uf  total  recall,  and  for  excellent  illustrations. 


isifuestions 
lL'scribin«; 
■('.  of  the 
'  Collejje, 
lea  in  the 
)  a  single 
'  into  the 
that  hap- 
our  mind, 
contained, 
as;  it  was, 
ining  (rf/y 
tly  viewed 
ther  than 
he  better 
een  these 
e  of  para- 


liolotty  of  SUK- 
tlu'Uiiichor  of 
IriKthestuiliMit 
ifHiis.  until  lit> 
fur  us  Umicnl 
of  tlif  liuiiiiin 
I  pheiioiiit'iion, 
•hiildtfl/;  Uriefer 
mid  reiidul>K< 
ustrutioiis. 


rAKAJiKAl'IIS. 


•03 


j^raphs  which  contain  ideas  merely  siii^- 
grsfed,  not  ideas  /oo/en/ly  f  lion  oh  f  on  I. 
Here  is  the  first  para<;raph: 

Not  liavint;  any  fiike.  through  not  hi-inv;'  fort-- 
wariifd  iis  to  tlu>  tiiiii-  of  iirrivnl  tlioiiu;li  it  ir*  tiot 
ofti'ii  I  iiiii  takt'ti  by  r^urpriMc  I'xrcpl  a.-  to  lit'ad- 
aflie,  wliich,  of  couixf,  is  accidental  to  every 
jierHon — I  have  not  >jot  anytliinjf  Imt  bread  and 
l)ntfer,  the  liaker  and  ^locer  l)einu-  all  that  conid 
he  denireil,  except  in  the  way  of  worryinjj;  fortheii 
money,  which  they  think  that  nince  I  keep  my 
hank  in  the  hoiir>e.  like  AlladinV  cave,  a»  I  have 
read  about  the  Arabian  Nijfht;*,  I  myself  having 
gained  it  an  a  prize  for  Knjflisli  in  my  early 
girlhood,  beiny  then  considered  a  scholar  anti 
industrious (1) 

Let  this  parajjjraph,  which  has  neither  a 
beginning,  a  middle,  or  an  end,  teach  you 
both  what  lack  of  unity  of  Substance  really 
is,  and  what  is  its  psychological  cause.  A 
paragraph  lacks  unity  of  Substance  when 
it  contains  not  only  ideas  which  are  strictly 


(ll  Mrs.  Siimpsoii  in  IAthhs  ihinif's  The  MuKtern  of  a  Haii- 
gifin  ('all.  I  liiivc  rcviHi'd  Mrs.  Siiinpson'H  •  t'ofijiify '  RnKliNli.  iin 
it  iippcars  ill  till' oriKliiitl.  ffuriii);  that  the  liidici'diis  .spt-lliiiK 
would  iiiukt!  til*-  piiriiKraph  Itsi-lf  appeHr  'coiiiic'  mid  thu.s 
diwtroy  its  real  value  as  u  case  of  the  lat'it  of  Unity  of  Siih- 
Ntmii'e.  For  another  excellent  example  read  Miss  flate^' 
•speeches'  In  Jane  Austen's  '  Eniiiia,'  one  of  which  is  (|Uoted  in 
James'  Pgychnlogn:  Briffer  ('onrnn.  (;hap,  XVI.  p.  2fll. 


^ 


I04 


I'l<IN(II'l.i;s  OK  STVI.K. 


relevant  to  a  writer's  limited  or  sjK'eial 
point  of  \ie\v,  hut  also  ideas  whieh  happen, 
aeeortlin*;  to  the  laws  of  Assoeiation,  to  he 
s//o-ai's/('i/  to  the  mind  of  the  writer  hy  the 
thoii^ihts  relevant  to  the  speeial  topie  of 
the  para<j;raph. 

The  para<;raph  I  have  just  used,  taken 
from  a  popular  novel,  may  seem  to  you 
an  extreme  ease,  or  -a  tietion  ereated  hy 
the  author  of  the  novel  in  whieh  the  para- 
«;raph  oeeurs,  in  order  to  show  his  ele\er- 
ness  in  '  eharaeteri/ation.'  Vou  may, 
indeed  say:  '  No  one  ever  talked  mueh  less 
wrote  in  sueh  a  eonfused  or  helter-skelter 
way/  I  assure  you,  however,  that  'su*;- 
f^estion '  rather  than  '  lof^ie  '  is  highly  potent 
in  serious  writinjjj.  Here  is  a  paragraph 
of  serious  eomposition;  a  parajjraph  meant 
to  descrihe,  as  the  writer  ealls  it,  \.\\c pleas- 
ant 'loeation'  of  the  University  of  South 

Dakota,  in  the  eity  of  Vermillion: 

Vermillion  18  admitted  by  iill  who  have  xeen 
tlu'  place  to  l)e  one  of  the  ujont  pleasant  cities*  in 
Sonth  Dakota.  |The  L'niverHity  in  in  the  north- 
eastern part.]    ThoHe  who  enjoy  boatinjf,  htintin^f 


p  «a>^Hw'*^K~ 


or  sjiccial 
:h  happen, 
ition,  to  be 
iter  by  the 
;il  topic  of 

sod,  taken 
■ni  to  you 
reated  by 
1  tlie  para- 
his  clever- 
I'ou    may, 

much  less 
ter-skelter 
that  '  su«j- 
;hly  potent 
paraji^raph 
aph  meant 
,  the  p/eas- 

of  South 

on: 

0  have  ween 
lint  oitieH  in 

1  tlie  north- 
njy,  linntinjif 


r.\K  A(;ka('||><. 


m 


and  cxiMirrtionr*  will  tind  \  tiinillinii  >in<l  viciiiilx 
Well  iiilii|ilc(l  tor  !4ii('li  i^iini'tr^.  kdwiti^  iind  ^kni- 
itij;  on  tlu-  riviT  an-  anions  tlie  iniinv  t-njoNaliJi 
rt'cn-atinnH  of  HliidentH.  jIImtv  vciii  oxi-niKion 
paiticrt  vixil  lh»"  NfluMfikii  lilnllH  (or  m-cdoyical 
H|K'(iim-iiH,  f<iiif»'  flic  tu'as  y  tiirln-r  alony  flu-  MIh- 
HDiiri  fiirnJHlifn  dt'liylilfiil  plaoi-x  for  |iiniits.| 

Unity  of  Substanie,  I  have  said,  exists  in 
a  jiaraj^n-aph  wlien  the  para<;raph  contains 
only  ideas  that  are  strictly  rele\ant  to  the 
limited  or  special  point  of  \ie\v,  or,  as  it 
is  called,  the  'topic,'  of  the  paraj^raph.  In 
the  paraj,Maph  I  have  just  cited  the  topic 
appears  in  the  first  sentence:  the  writer 
means  to  recommend  'life 'at  the  Uni\er- 
sity  of  South  Dakota  through  the  fact  that 
i//e  city  of  Vermi/Iion,  where  the  LIni\ei- 
sity  stands,  is  a  very  pleasant  place  in 
which  to  live.  The  principle  of  Unity  of 
Substance  demands  that  a  writer  stick 
absolutely  to  the  point  of  view  of  his  or 
her  topic.  Our  writer,  in  the  present 
instance,  does  not  do  so.  In  the  second 
sentence  of  the  paragraph  cited,  which  I 
have  bracketed,  the  writer  happens  to  think 
of  the  precise  situation  of  the  University  of 


<^ 


lo6 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK 


;, 


■A 


South  Dakota;  yielding  to  this  suggested 
idea  about  the  situation  the  writer  places 
this  thought  in  a  paragraph  dealing  not 
with    the    situation    itself,   but    with    the 
phasantness  of  the  situation.      The  fact 
that  the  University  of  South  Dakota  is,  as 
the  writer  of  the  paragraph  says,  in  the 
northeastern  part  of  the  city  of  Vermillion, 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  topic  of  pleas- 
antness—unless, as  the  writer  may  have 
thought  but  did  not  explicitly  express,  the 
northeastern  part  of  the  city  of  Vermillion 
is   the    most   pleasant  part  of  that  most 
pleasant  city.     The  high  probability,  how- 
ever, is  that  the  writer's  remark  about  the 
situation  of  the  University  is  a  suggested 
'after-thought;'    and   therefore  absolutely 
irrelevant    to    the    subject-matter   of   the 
paragraph.      The  second  sentence  of  the 
paragraph  cited  should,  then,  be  eliminated. 
Once  this  is  done  the  third  and  the  fourth 
sentences  of  this  paragraph,  dealing  as  they 
do  with  the  opportunities  for  sports  and 
pastimes  while  the  student  of  the  University 


laef 


i  suggested 
riter  places 
dealing  not 
:    with    the 
The  fact 
)akota  is,  as 
says,  in  the 
Vermillion, 
pic  of  pleas- 
■  may  have 
express,  the 
:  Vermillion 
:  that  most 
ibility,  how- 
rk  about  the 
a  suggested 
;  absolutely 
tter   of   the 
tence  of  the 
s  eliminated, 
d  the  fourth 
aling  as  they 
•  sports  and 
e  University 


'-^ 


PARAGRAPHS. 


107 


of  South  Dakota  is  residing  in  Vermillion, 
naturally  are  connected  in  substance  with 
the  first  sentence. 

Again:  The  criticism  I  have  just  offered 
regarding  the  second  sentence  of  the  para- 
graph cited,  is  applicable  also  to  the  fifth 
sentence.     In  this  sentence  the  writer  sub- 
mits that  every  year  (of  college  residence 
in  Vermillion,  presumably)  excursion  par- 
ties visit  the  Nebraska  bluffs  for  geological 
specimens.  Now,  the  topic  of  the  paragraph 
is  the  pleasantness  of  Vermillion  as  a  place 
of  residence.    Travelling  out  of  Vermillion 
to  Nebraska  to  search  for  geological  speci- 
mens has  as  much  connection  with  a.  pleas- 
ant mode  of  life  /;/  Vermillion  as  going  to  an 
Industrial  Exposition  at  Paris.     To  be  sure, 
the  writer  adds  that  while  searching  for 
geological   specimens    on   the    Nebraska 
bluffs,  the  bluffs  themselves  are  so  well 
wooded  as  to  make  them  delightful  places 
for  '  picnicking.'     The  essential  idea  in  the 
writer's  mind  is  that  Vermillion,  the  seat 
of  the  University  of  South  Dakota,  is  so 


^ 


lo8 


PRINCIIM.KS  Ol'    STVLK 


near  the  well  wooded  Nebraska  bluffs  that 
students  of  the  University  of  South  Dakota 
can  often  make  life  agreeable  by  picnicking 
in  the  woods  of  the  bluffs.  Picnicking 
and  searching  for  geological  specimens  are 
distinguished  as  play  from  work:  so  that 
searching  for  geological  specimens  has  not 
the  slightest  connection  in  substance  with 
the  topic  of  the  paragraph,  namely,  the 
pleasantness  of  Vermillion  as  a  place  of 
residence.  This  sentence,  or  at  least  the  part 
of  it  referring  to  geological  investigations, 
must  be  eliminated,  and  the  remainder 
somehow  so  reconstructed  as  readily  to 
connect  itself  in  substance  with  the  topic 
of  the  paragraph.  The  whole  paragraph, 
if  revised  in  the  way  I  have  indicated,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  unity  of  Substance  will 
read  as  follows:(') 

Vermillion,  the  seat  of  the  State  University,  is 
iidinitted  by  all  who  have  seen  the  place  to  he  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  cities  in  Sonth  Dakota.  Those 


iK  I  have  hiid  toehanue  Its  form  us  well  as  Its  substance 
In  ordor  to  make  the  whole  strictly  artistic  In  composition.  1 
will  deal  u!;aln  with  this  passage  under  unity  of  Form. 


bluffs  that 
nth  Dakota 
picnickintr 
Picnicking 
;cimens  are 
rk:  so  that 
ens  has  not 
itance  with 
imely,  the 
a  place  of 
ast  the  part 
estimations, 
remainder 
readily  to 
1  the  topic 
paragraph, 
cated,  from 
(Stance  will 

Jniversity,  is 
ace  to  l>e  one 
»kota.  Those 


as  its  substance 
coiiipositlun.    1 
of  Form. 


PAKAC.KAl'HS. 


109 


who  enjoj'  boating?,  Iinntiny,  and  excursions  will 
find  Vermillion  and  vicinity  well  adapted  for 
such  sports.  Those  who  enjoy  skatiny  will  find 
in  winter  an  excellent  body  of  ice  on  the  Vermil- 
lion river.  Those  who  care  for  picnicking;-  will 
find  well  woode<I  grounds  adapted  to  such  pas- 
time on  the  Nebraska  bluffs,  which  lie  across  the 
Missouri  river,  about  four  miles  from  Vermillion. 

Theoretically,  then,  a  paragraph  has 
unity  of  Substance  when  it  contains  only 
such  ideas  as  are  strictly  relevant  to  the 
limited  or  special  point  of  viexv — or  topic 
— of  the  particular  paragraph. 

Before  treating  of  the  principle  of  Unity 
of  Form  as  applied  to  the  construction  of 
paragraphs,  and  of  the  method  of  securing 
unity  of  Form  in  these  parts,  let  me  supply 
you  with  a  practical,  or  mechanical,  method 
of  securing  unity  of  Substance  in  the  para- 
graphs of  a  prose  theme.  The  mechanical 
device  is  already  familiar  to  you.  If  you 
revert  once  more  to  your  original  compo- 
sition on  'A  Student^s  Room  in  Harvard 
College,'  you  will  find  that  you  tirst  planned, 
as  I  called  it,  an  'abstract'  of  the  general 
substance  and  form  of   your  theme,  and 


,1 


■* 
I 


/^ 


ita 


PklNCIPLKS  OF  STYLK. 


then  expanded  the  leading  ideas  of  your 
abstract.  In  expanding  your  abstract, 
you  failed  here  and  there  to  secure  strict 
unity  of  Substance,  because,  as  I  showed, 
you  inserted  in  a  paragraph  devoted  to  a 
particular  topic  a  numer  of  ideas  really  not 
concerned  with  that  topic.  The  reason  of 
this  was  that  you  literally  threw  down  on 
paper  ideas  just  as  they  came  to  you, 
in  their  accidental  order.  If,  then,  you 
would  secure  unity  of  Substance  in  each 
paragraph  of  your  prose  themes,  you  should 
make  an  abstract  both  of  the  general  topics 
of  your  theme,  and  of  the  special  topics 
under  each  general  one,  and  while  treating 
each  topic,  you  should  include  only  such 
ideas  as  strictly  belong  under  each. 

Suppose  that,  e.  g.,  you  wish  to  secure 
unity  of  Substance  in  the  paragraphs  of 
the  Discussion  of  your  theme  on  'A  Stu- 
dent's Room  in  Harvard  College.'  The 
general  topics  of  your  Discussion  are,  first, 
the  appearances  and,  secondly,  the  uses  of 
the  room  you  mean  to  write  about.     You 


,npw^4iii«n>\)  tfiv'ftri' 


;as  of  your 
r  abstract, 
;cure  strict 

I  showed, 
evoted  to  a 
LS  really  not 
le  reason  of 
w  down  on 
le   to   you, 

then,  you 
ice  in  each 
,  you  should 
neral  topics 
zcial  topics 
lile  treating 
!  only  such 
ach. 

\  to  secure 
agraphs  of 
on  'A  Stu- 
ege.'  The 
in  are,  first, 
,  the  uses  of 
bout.     You 


PARAGRAPHS. 


til 


must,  as  does  almost  every  one  who  writes, 
first  make  an  abstract  of  the  main  topics 
of  your  Discussion,  and  then  of  the  special 
topics  under  each  of  the  main  ones.  These 
special  topics  are  your  paragraphs.  Here 
is  a  'picture'  of  the  main  topics  of  your 
Discussion  of  'A  Student's  Room  in  Har- 
vard College,'  and  of  the  paragraph-topics 
of  this  theme: 

A  student's  room  in  harvard 

COLLEGE. 
The  Discission: 

( 1 )  The  external  appearance  of  the  room : 

(a)  The  door  and  transom. 

(b)  The  letter-box  and  card-plate. 

(2)  The  internal  appearance  of  the  room: 

(a)  The  general  architecture. 

(b)  The  general  furnishings. 

(c)  The  arrangement  of  the  furnishings. 

(d)  The  decorations  on  walls  and  mantel-piere. 

(3)  The  uses  of  the  room: 

(a)  As  a  study. 

(b)  As  a  living-room. 

(c)  As  a  reception-room. 

The  main  topics  of  the  Discussion  I  have 
above  distinguished  by  the  numerals,  (i ), 
(2),  and  (3);  the  paragraph-topics  under 
the  main  ones  I  have  distinguished  by  the 


I 
I 


i 


ita 


PKINClI'l.KS  OK  STYLK. 


letters  of  the  alphabet,  (a),  (b),  (c),  (d). 
To  secure,  then,  unity  of  Substance  in  your 
Discussion  of  the  appearances  and  uses 
of  'A  Student's  Room  in  Harvard  Col- 
lege,' you  must  follow  strictly  the  substance 
of  your  ideas  as  outlined  in  your  abstract. 
That  is  to  say:  While  dealing  with  the 
main  topic  concerned  with  the  external 
appearance  of  the  student's  room  you  are 
writing  about,  in  your  first  paragraph 
nothing  must  appear  except  what  is  concern- 
ed strictly  with  the  door  and  transom,  and 
in  your  second  paragraph  nothing  must 
appear  except  what  is  concerned  strictly 
with  the  letter-box  and  card-plate;  while 
dealing  with  the  internal  appearance  of 
your  student's  room,  in  your  first  para- 
graph nothing  must  appear  except  what  is 
concerned  strictly  with  the  general  archi- 
tecture of  the  room,  and  in  your  second 
paragraph  nothing  must  appear  except 
what  is  concerned  strictly  with  its  general 
furnishings,  and  so  on,  for  each  of  the 
remaining  paragraphs;  and  while  dealing 


'),  (c),  (d). 
nee  in  your 
,v  and  «.s-^.s- 
rvard  Col- 
e  substanee 
ir  abstraet. 
ij  with  the 
e  external 
)m  you  are 
paragraph 
:  is  eoneern- 
Einsom,  and 
hing  must 
ed  strictly 
late;  while 
earance  of 
first  para- 
ept  what  is 
eral  archi- 
:)ur  second 
jar  except 
its  general 
ich  of  the 
ile  dealing 


r> 


PAKAUKAl'HS. 


113 


with  the  uses  of  your  student's  room,  in 
your  first  paragraph  nothing  must  appear 
except  what  is  concerned  ^'.Ictly  with  the 
room  as  a  study,  in  your  second  paragraph 
nothing  must  appear  except  what  is  con- 
cerned strictly  with  the  room  as  a  living- 
room,  and  so  on. 

Mechanical,  no  doubt,  this  method  is:  it 
is,  however,  only  an  aid  to  clear  and  logical 
thinking.  According  as  you  think  clearly 
and  logically,  so  will  your  expression  of 
your  thoughts  be  clear  and  logical.  The 
device  I  have  explained  to  you,  while  used 
in  one  form  or  in  another  by  almost  all 
careful  and  expert  writers,(')  is  recom- 
mended to  you,  a  tyro  in  the  art  of  writing 
prose  style,  chiefly  as  a  method  to  be  used 
much  more  in  revising  than  in  prevising 
your  original  compositions.  In  this  way, 
if  you  do  not  gain  ready  power  of  clear 


(II  Hi'<.'  Wi-ndell's  Knyllnh  CompoxttUin.  pp.  lai,  and  I(i4-1<H1; 
Carpenter's  ExercUex  in  Rhetoric  and  KnylUh  f'omponHioti,  pp. 
1.54-IiS5;  Herrick  &  Diuhom'm  Compotiftfon  and  Uhetitric,  pp.  .IT-.")!, 
and  (MT-;t.')i{;  and  Mead's  Praetieal  Compitiittion  and  Rhetortc,  pp. 

52-30. 


^  ■pwmgajvrLJi'j'.. 


114 


I'KINCIPI-I-.S  OF  STVl.l- 


I'  : 


and  lojj^ical  thinkin»j,  you  will  tjain  at  least 
stire  power  of  thinking,  and,  therefore,  of 
writing  artistic  prose  style. 

My  next  task  is  to  explain  specifically 
the  nature  of  the  principle  of  Unity  of 
Form  as  applied  to  the  construction  of 
paragraphs,  and  fully  to  illustrate  the  appli- 
cation of  this  principle  to  these  parts  of  a 
prose  theme.  In  paragraphs  the  principle 
of  Unity  of  Form  demands  something  more 
subtle  and  refined  in  logical  order  and 
proportion  than  the  mere  order  and  propor- 
tion that  should  exist  in  a  whole  composition. 
In  a  whole  composition,  taken  strictly  as 
a  whole,  the  principle  of  Unity  of  Form 
demands,  as  I  said  (pp.  52-55),  that  the 
ideas  proper  to  a  given  general  point  of 
view  should  simply  folloiv  one  another 
from  the  beginning,  through  the  middle, 
to  the  end  of  a  theme  in  a  logical  order ^ 
that  is,  in  an  order  natural  to  a  given  point 
of  view;  and  that  the  principal  parts  of 
the  whole  (the  principal  groups  of  related 
ideas)  should  be/>/'o/>o/'/;'o«<T/e  to  the  import- 


ijain  at  least 
:heref()re,  of 

specifically 
)f  Unity  of 
itruction  of 
te  the  appli- 
2  parts  of  a 
lie  principle 
ethin^more 

order  and 
and  propor- 
omposition. 

strictly  as 
ty  of  Form 
;),  that  the 
ral  point  of 
)ne  another 
the  middle, 
\rical  order ^ 
given  point 
pal  parts  of 
•s  of  related 
5  the  import- 


PAKACKAPHS. 


"5 


ance  or  function  of  the  parts.  The  relative 
proportion iugvA  ihe  parts  much  more  than 
the  mere  order  of  their  ideas,  I  said,  makes 
a  whole  composition,  taken  strictly  as  a 
whole,  an  artistic  piece  of  prose  style.  If 
the  principal  parts  (Introduction,  Discus- 
sion, and  Conclusion)  of  a  prose  theme  are 
proportionate  to  their  importance  and  func- 
tion and  simply  follow  one  another  in  a  lotj^- 
ical  or  natural  order,  and  if  the  paragraphs 
contained  within  the  principal  parts  are 
.  proportionate  to  their  own  importance  or 
function  and  follow  one  another  in  a  logical 
or  natural  order — then  a  whole  composition 
has  unity  of  Form. 

Now  a  paragraph,  since  it  contains  a 
number  of  parts  (sentences)  which  develop 
a  single  idea  (or  topic),  is  practically  a 
whole  composition  in  miniature.  A  para- 
graph, then,  has  unity  of  Form  when  its 
parts  (sentences)  are  arranged  in  simple 
logical  order,  or,  as  they  put  it  in  Rhetorics, 
when  their  parts  are  '  coherent.'  This  I 
call  simple  unity   of  Form.      Again:    A 


^ 


t 


t    '.  K 


l\ 


Ii6 


I'KIN'CIl'LKS  OK  STYLK. 


para^n-aph  has  unity  of  Form  not  merely 
when  its  parts  (sentences)   are  coherent, 
but  more  especially  when  its  parts,  as  I 
put  it  now,  have  individually  f/w  saine  f'onii 
of  structure.  This  I  caW  com  pound  unity  of 
Form.    So  abstract  or  general  have  I  been 
in  my  statement  that  you  will  fail  to  under- 
stand me,  until,  I  explain  myself,  the  bet- 
ter I  judge,  through  illustration.     Fcr  this 
purpose  I  shall  use  two  paragraphs  which 
lack  respectively  the  simpler  and  the  higher 
kind  of  unity  of  Form;  and  after  criticizing 
each  of  these  paragraphs,  I  shall  reconstruct 
both  of  them  so  as  to  show  the  contrast 
between  the  old  and  thi  revised  composi*ion. 
Here  is  a  paragraph  which  lacks,  as  I 
have  called  it,  simple  unity  of  Form;  which 
lacks,    /.  e.,  strict    logical    order    in    the 
sequence  of  its  parts  (sentences): 

Huller'rt  advunce  occupied  Macluidodorp  this 
afternoon.  Tiie  enemy  made  a  (ioor  s^tancl  and 
retired  northward,  followed  by  Dundonald't* 
mounted  troops,  who  could  not  proceed  beyond 
Helvetin  on  account  of  the  nature  of  the  country. 
[It  appears  Buller'w  casualties  are  very  few.| 
French  continued  his  movement  today  as  far  as 


^ 


not  merely 
re  coherent, 
?  parts,  as  I 
le  sdiiie  form 
>umi  unity  of 

I  have  I  been 
fail  to  iinder- 
self,  the  bet- 
in.  Ff>r  this 
jraphs  which 
nd  the  higher 
:er  criticizing 

II  reconstruct 
the  contrast 

I  composition. 
:h  lacks,  as  I 
Form;  which 
)rder  in  the 
res): 

cluidodorp  this 
|ioor  s^tancl  and 
y  Dundonald'a 
jroceed  beyond 

of  the  country. 

are  very  few.] 
today  aa  far  as 


^s 


I'AKAdKAl'IIS. 


•>7 


Klandsfontein,  from  wlik-li  lie  turned  tlie  enemy 
out  without  niueh  (Unieulty.  [liullerV  eaHualtie»« 
were  27  killed;  wounded.  Heveral  <)t1k'er8  and  ,■)() 
men.] 

The  paragraph  which  I  have  just  cited 
contains  five  sentences.  The  arrangement, 
or  sequence,  of  the  third  and  fifth  sentences, 
which  I  have  bracketed  fails  in  unity  of 
Form,  because  the  idea  contained  in  these 
sentences  is  partly  given  in  the  third  and 
partly  in  the  fifth,  but  the  immediate  con- 
nection of  these  sentences  is  broken  by 
the  fourth  sentence,  which  contains  an 
altogether  different  idea.  The  third  sen- 
tence, you  note,  states  that  the  casualties 
to  the  troops  of  the  British  leader,  Buller, 
were  very  few.  This  is  a  general  state- 
ment, followed  in  the  fifth  sentence  by 
a  specific  statement  of  the  casualties  to 
Buller's  troops.  This  specific  statement, 
which  the  merest  common  sense  would  tell 
one  should  follow  immediately  the  general 
statement,  is  separated  from  its  natural 
concomitant  by  the  fourth  sentence,  which 
is  concerned  with  a  wholly  different  matter. 


::t 


■^MMriMMMliiii 


^ 


lis 


I'KI.NClI'l.KS  OK  srVLK. 


To  «;ive  this  paragraph,  then,  simple  unity 
of  Form,  the  first,  second,  third,  and  fifth 
scntL'nccs  must  folh»w  one  another  in  the 
order  of  first,  seeond,  third,  and  fourlii, 
while  the  original  fourth  sentence,  if  used 
at  all,  must  take  the  place  of  the  tifth 
sentence  of  the  ori^^inal  composition.  Thus 
revised  the  paragraph  cited  will  read  as 
follows; 

Hiilk-rV  iKlvam-*'  (UHMipiod  MiU-liiiilodDrp  lliia 
iiftoniDon.  Tlif  etu'iny  miido  ii  poor  wtand  and 
retired  northward,  follo\vf<l  l)y  Dnndonald'w 
inonnted  troop;*,  who  couhl  n(»t  proceed  hejontl 
Hclvotin  on  aeeoiint  of  the  nature  of  the  i-ountry. 
It  appearH  Holler's  eartnalties  are  very  few. 
Hidh  rV  eartualtien  were  21  killed;  woiuideil,  nev- 
eral  ofVicerx  an«l  .")<»  men.  French  eontinned  his 
movement  today  as  far  as  Klandsfontein,  from 
which  he  turned  the  enemy  i»ut  without  much 
difllculty. 

Let  me  now  quote  a  paraj^raph  which 
lacks,  as  I  have  called  it,  compound  unity 
of  Form;  which  lacks,  /'.  e.,  in  each  sentence 
not  merely  logical  order,  but  also  the  same 
form  of  structure: 

Vermillion  is  admitted  by  all  who  have  seen 
the  place  to  be  one  of  the  most  pleasant  cities  in 
South  Dakota.      The  I'niversity  is  in  the  north- 


I 


r\ 


I 


^Jl 


^ 


uinplc  iinitv 
id,  and  tiftli 
other  in  the 
and  foil  rill, 
!nce,  if  used 
of  the  tifth 
sition.  Thus 
w'\]\  read  as 

luidodorp  thif* 

nor  HtHtid  and 

DniKlnniildV 

-OCl'l'd    l)t'J'(>IHl 

)f  the  I'oiuitry. 
are  very  few. 
wounded,  !*e\- 
eontiniied  hi?* 
rtfotitein,  from 
witlioiit  much 

iraph  which 
ipound  unity 
;ach  sentence 
ilso  the  same 


who  have  Heen 
easant  cities  in 
<  in  the  north- 


' 


I 


i'.\K.\(.kAriis. 


119 


eaHtern  part.  IThnxe  wlin  i'tiji>>  lioalinu;,  luintlnH' 
and  fxciirHiotif*  will  tind  VCrmiUion  iiiid  vicinity 
wi'll  adapted  for  rtucli  !<pnrtf».  Kowiiiy;  and  ftkat- 
inn  ""  tlic  river  are  amonn  tile  many  enjoyaliie 
recreations  of  utiidentx.  Kvery  year  excursion 
parties  visit  the  .N'eliraska  Iduffs  for  neojojrji-al 
specimens,  Hince  tlie  heavy  timber  aion^  the  Mis- 
souri furnishes  delightful  phu-es  for  picnics.] 

The  para<,'raph  which  I  have  just  cited 
above  I  liave  criticized  and  revised  (pp. 
105-109)  from  the  point  of  view  of  unity 
of  Substance:  but  in  revisin*;  it  I  said  (p. 
108,  f/o/e  I)  that  to  make  this  parajjjraph 
appear  as  an  artistic  piece  of  composition 
I  should  reconstruct  both  its  substance 
and  its  form.  This  paraj^raph,  as  you  note, 
has  for  its  topic,  not  the  situation  itself  of 
the  University  of  South  Dakota,  but  the 
pleasantness  of  the  situation.  The  tirst 
sentence  begins  with  a  ji^enerai  statement 
to  the  effect  that  Vermillion — the  seat  of 
the  University  of  South  Dakota — is  a  very 
pleasant  place  in  which  to  live.  The  second 
sentence,  however,  introduces  into  the  par- 
agraph a  statement  which  in  substance  does 
not  belong  to  this  paragraph;  while  the 


1^^ 


,  120  PklNCIPLKS  OF  STYLE. 

•i'  '  :    "  ' 

*'  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  sentences   expand 

\  by  specific  statement  the  lojjjical  topic  of 

j  this  paragraph.      The  introducin^ij  of  the 

i  irrelevant  second  sentence  destroys  simple 

■  logical  v)rder  in  the  sequence  of  the  sentences 

I  of  this  paragraph,  destroys  simple  unity  of 

j  Form.       In  an  altogether  different  way, 

ul  however,  unity  of  Form  is  destroyed  by 

the  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  sentences  (brack- 
eted). That  is  to  say:  Since  the  third 
sentence,  which  follows  the  general  state- 
ment of  the  first  sentence,  begins  the  specific 
statements,  all  the  other  sentences  which 
follow  it  in  making  specific  statements 
[  should  have,   as  the  Rhetorics    put    it,  a 

!  form  parallel  with  it.      Now,  this  third 

I  sentence  begins  with  the  phrase — 'Those 

I  whoenjoyboating,  hunting,  and  excursions, 

and  so  on '.     What  is  more  natural  than 
to  expect  that  if  other  specific  statements 
'  follow,  in  numerically  different  sentences, 

each  subsequent  sentence  will  have  the 
same  form  of  structure — '  Those  who  enjoy 
boating,  hunting,  and  excursions,  and  so 


^ 


YLE. 

itences  expand 
oijical  topic  of 
oduciniij  of  the 
lestroys  simple 
of  the  sentences 
simple  unity  of 
different  way, 
i  destroyed  by 
ntences(brack- 
jince  the  third 

fjeneral  state- 
ufins  the  specific 
entences  which 
ific  statements 
irics  put  it,  a 
low,  this  third 
)hrase — '  Those 
and  excursions, 
re  natural  than 
LMfic  statements 
irent  sentences, 

tuill  have  the 
'hose  who  enjoy 
ursions,  and  so 


PAKAGRArilS. 


in 


on;'  'Those  who  enjoy  rowing,  and  skatinf;^,' 
and  soon;  and  '  Those  who  enjoy  picnick- 
ing,' and  so  on.  The  fact  is,  however,  that 
our  writer,  in  the  first  sentence  of  specific 
statements  (the  third  sentence  of  the  para- 
graph) begins  with  a  subject  concerned 
about  persons,  and  ends  with  a  predicate 
(verb  and  modifiers)  referring  to  their 
actions  in  the  future;  while  our  writer,  in 
the  second  sentence  of  specific  statements 
(the  fourth  of  the  paragraph)  begins  with 
a  subject  concerned  about  things  or  actions, 
and  ends  with  a  predicate  (verb  and  modi- 
fiers) referring  to  persons;  while,  finally, 
our  writer,  in  the  third  sentence  of  specific 
statements  begins  with  a  subject  concerned 
about  persons  and  ends  with  a  predicate 
(verb  and  modifiers)  referring  to  indefinite 
action.  From  the  point  of  view  of  artistic 
composition  our  writer  would  have  been 
at  least  more  '  successful,'  not  to  say,  '  fin- 
ished,' if  all  our  writer's  sentences  had 
assumed  the  form  of  the  first  sentence  of 
specific  statements — /.  g.,  had  begun  with 


^ 


■  t 


122 


PKINCIFLKS  OF  STYLK. 


a  subject  concerned  about  persons  and  had 
ended  with  a  predicate  referring  to  future 
action.  Thus  revised  each  sentence  not 
only  will  follow  its  concomitant  in  strict 
logical  order  but  also  will  have  strict  uni- 
formity of  structure.  My  revision  appears 
immediately  below: 

Vermillion,  the  >.e :.t  of  the  State  University,  i« 
admitted  by  all  who  have  seen  the  place  to  be  one 
of  the  most  plear^ant  cities  in  Sonth  Dakota.  Those 
who  enjoy  boatin^^  hnnting,  and  excur-onB  wU 
find  Vermillion   and  vicinity  well   adapted  for 
such  sports.    Those  who  enjoy  skating  will  find 
Zl^^^r  an  excellent  body  of  ice  on  the  Verm.  - 
lion  river.     Those  who  care  for  picntckinR  will 
find  well  wooded  grounds  adapted  to  «"ch  pas- 
time  on  the  Nebraska  bluffs,  which  he  across  the 
Missouri  river,  about  four  miles  from  Vermdhon. 

Despite  all  my  explanation  of  the  nature 
and  application  of  the  principle  of  Unity  of 
Form  you  will  have  somewhat  misunder- 
stood me:  you  will  have  confounded  mere 
likeness  or  similarity  of  external  structure 
with  uniformity  of  structure.  Let  me 
explain  the  difference  between  mere  simi- 
larity and  uniformity  in  the  structure  of 
the  sentences  of  a  paragraph. 


/^ 


PARAGRAPHS. 


Itt 


IS  and  had 
to  future 
tence  not 
t  in  strict 
strict  uni- 
in  appears 

liveraity,  ifl 
ce  to  be  one 
kota.  Those 
ursiona  will 
adapted  for 
tij{  will  find 
the  Verniil- 
nickinjs  will 
to  auch  pas- 
ie  across  the 
1  Vermillion. 

the  nature 
of  Unity  of 

misunder- 

mded  mere 

il  structure 

Let  me 

mere  simi- 
jtructure  of 


The  Beatitudes  in  Christ's  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  (St.  Matthew's  Gospel,  Chap.  V) 
have  both  similarity  and  uniformity  of  sen- 
tential structure.  I  choose  a  number  of 
them,  and  make  a  simple  paragraph  of  them, 
as  follows: 

Blessed  are  they  that  mourn:  for  they  shall  be 
comforted.  Ble.-*sed  are  the  meek:  for  they  shall 
inherit  the  earth.  Blessed  are  they  which  do 
hnnjrer  and  thirst  after  rijrhteonsness:  for  they 
shall  be  filled.  Blessed  are  tlie  merciful:  for  they 
shall  obtain  mercy.  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart: 
for  they  shall  see  God.  Blessed  are  the  peace- 
makers: for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of 
God. 

The  sentences  which  I  have  just  quoted 
have    similarity    of     external     structure, 
because  each  of  them  begins  and  ends  with 
the  same  material  form;  begins,  that  is, 
with  the  words,  '  Blessed  are  the—,'  and 
ends  with  the  word  . '  For  they  shall  be—.' 
While,  no  doubt,  in  the  case  of  the  Beati- 
tudes the  similarity  of  external  structure 
has  a  unique  effect,  both  artistically  and 
otherwise;  yet,  strictly  viewed  as  a  method 
of  composition,  it  would  be  wholly  impossi- 


-J 


^ 


124 


PRINCIPLKS  OK  STYLK. 


n 


ble  always  so  to  construct  the  sentences  of 
a  paragraph:  it  would  be  too  artificial  and 
would   too  soon  create   monotony.     The 
Beatitudes,  however,  have  also  uniformity 
of  sentential  structure,  because  each  sen- 
tence   in    the    paragraph    containing   the 
Beatitudes  keeps,  as  far  as  possible,^  ^//^ 
sawe  form  of  subject  and  predicate.     The 
subject,  as  you  note,  in  each  sentence  is  a 
personal  subject--' They  that  mourn,'  'the 
meek,'  'they  that  do  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness,'  Hhe  merciful,'  'the  pure  in 
heart,'  'the  peacemakers;'  while  the  predi- 
cate (verb  and  modifiers)  in  the  first  clause 
of  each  sentence  keeps  the  same  person, 
tense,  mood,  and  voice,  and  in  the  second 
clause  of  each  sentence  keeps  the  same 
person,  tense,  mood,  and,  practically,  the 
same  voice-' Blessed  are  they-:  for  they 
shall—,'  and  so  on. 

Unity  of  Form,  then,  means  the  mam- 
taining,  as  far  as  possible  artistically,  in 
each  sentence  of  a  paragraph  the  same 
^  structuraV prm  of  subject  and  predicate. 


^ 


PARAGRAPHS. 


125 


ntences  of 
iticial  and 
ny.     The 
iniformity 
each  sen- 
lining    the 
ssible,  the 
•ate.     The 
ntence  is  a 
ourn,'  'the 
thirst  after 
the  pure  in 
;  the  predi- 
first  clause 
me  person, 
the  second 
;  the  same 
tically,  the 
— :  for  they 

5  the  main- 
istically,  in 
ti  the  same 
id  predicate. 


The  following   paragraph  is  an  excellent 

instance  of  it: 

Her  companion  laughed  and  sang  n  »tave  of  a 
cavalier  love  Hong.  He  was  a  slender,  well-made 
man,  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  the  mode  of  the 
year  of  grace,  sixteen  hundred  and  sixty-three,  in 
a  richly  laced  suit  of  camlet  writh  points  of  blue 
ribbon,  and  the  great  scented  periwig  then  newly 
come  into  fashion.  The  close  curled  rings  of  hair 
descending  far  over  his  cravat  of  finest  Holland 
framed  a  handsome,  lazily  insolent  face,  with 
large  steel-blue  eyes  and  beautifully  cut,  mocking 
lips.    A  rapier  with  a  jeweled  hilt  hung  at  his  side. 

Unity  of  Form  in  paragraphs  is  so  subtle 
and  refined  a  matter,  so  dependent  on  clear 
and  logical  thinking  en  the  part  of  a  writer, 
that  it  cannot  be  secured  by  mere  mechan- 
ical devices.  Still  in  iny  next  topic  I  shall 
give  you  some  help  in  the  way  of  mechan- 
ical devices.  In  the  meantime  let  me  remind 
you  that  in  revising  your  original  composi- 
tions with  an  eye  to  strict  unity  of  Form 
in  your  paragraphs,  see,  first,  that  the 
sequence  of  the  sentences  in  a  paragraph 
is  coherent  (logical  in  order)  and,  secondly, 
that  the  subject  and  predicate  of'  all  the 
sentences  contained  in  a  paragraph  have 


,j6  FKI.MCIPLKS  OK  STYLK. 

not  simihinty.  hut  uniformity  of  structure. 
Principles'  and  Methods  of   Internally 
Arranging  the  Parts  of  a  Paragraph. - 
From  the  point  of  view  of  writing  prose 
style  there  are  two  ways  of  regarding  para- 
graphs.  First:  One  may  regard  a  paragraph 
as  an  independent  whole.     In  that  case  a 
writer  is  concerned  solely  with  the  principles 
and  methods  of  internally  arranging  the 
parts  (sentences)  of  a  paragraph.     Again. 
One  may  regard  a  paragraph  as  a  related 
whole,  as  a   component  part  of  a  larger 
whole.     In  that  case  a  writer  is  concerned 
with  the  principles  and  methods  of  inter- 
connecting in  a  logical  way  paragraph  with 
paragraph.      I  shall  now  deal  with  the 
principles  and  methods  of  internally  arrang- 
ing the  parts  of  a  paragraph. 

It  is  of  some  consequence  to  understand 
why  a  paragraph  should  have  its  parts 
internally  arranged  in  a  coherent  wa)-. 
Any  paragraph  may  have  unity  of  bub- 
stance,  and  yet  by  the  mere  arrangement 
and  connection  of  its  parts  fail  to  be  at  once 


i^im 


•mm 


tnictui'C. 
internally 
igraph.  — 

ng  prose 
ling  para- 
>aragraph 
lat  case  a 
principles 
nging  the 
,     Again: 
5  a  related 
f  a  larger 
concerned 
Is  of  inter- 
graph  with 
1   with  the 
allyarrang- 

understand 
e  its  parts 
erent  way. 
ity  of  Sub- 
rrangement 
0  be  at  once 


I'AKAdKAI'llS. 


Mf 


intelligible  and  clear  to  a  reader.  The 
reason  is  that  a  slovenly  or  incoherent 
arrangement  of  the  parts  of  a  paragraph 
forces  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  the  task 
not  only  of  simply  rethinking  a  writer's 
thought,  but  also  of  so  reconstructing  the 
parts  of  a  paragraph  as  to  make  the 
rethinking  itself  possible.  Revert,  e.g.,  to 
the  paragraph  reading  as  follows: 

Verinillion  ia  ndinitted  l)y  all  who  have  seen 
the  place  to  be  one  of  the  most  pleasant  cities  in 
South  Dakota.  [The  University  is  in  the  north- 
eastern part.]  Those  who  enjoy  rmatinjr,  hunting, 
and  excursions  will  tind  Vermillion  and  vicinity 
well  adapted  for  such  sports.  Rowing  and  skat- 
ing on  the  river  are  among  the  many  enjoyable 
recreations  of  students.  [Kvery  year  excursion 
parties  visit  the  Nebraska  bluffs  for  geological 
specimens,  since  the  heavy  timber  along  the  Mis- 
souri furnishes  delightful  places  for  picnics.] 

The  last  sentence  of  the  paragraph  just 
quoted  is,  on  the  face  of  it,  absolute  non- 
sense. Yet  to  the  author  of  it  this  sentence 
was  anything  but  nonsense:  in  the  mind  of 
the  writer  a  connection  existed  between 
this  sentence  and  the  other  sentences  of 
the  paragraph.     The  reader,  therefore,  is 


/^ 


'*ii 


128  PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 

forced  not  simply  to  read  and  understand, 
but  also   to  think   out  the   connection  of 
the  last  sentence  with  its  comrades  in  the 
same  paragraph.    In  the  following  way,  it 
may  be  imagined,  the  reader's  rethinking 
goes  on.  The  topic  of  the  paragraph  is  the 
pleasantness  of  the  situation  of  the  Univer- 
sity  of  South  Dakota.     The  problem  of  the 
reader  is  to  discover  the  connection  between 
the    tirst,  or  the  topic-sentence,  and  the 
last  sentence.     In  the  third  sentence  of  the 
paragraph  the  reader  notes  that  a  student 
of  the  University  of  South  Dakota  will  hnd 
a  great  many  opportunities  for  sports  and 
pastimes  in  the  city  of  Vermillion,  the  seat 
of  the  University,  and  also  in  the  vtamty 
of  this  town.  The  reference  to  the  Nebraska 
bluffs  will  have,  the  reader  opines,  a  proper 
connection   with   the   other   sentences,   if 
these  bluffs  are  in  the  vicinity  of  Vermil- 
lion, and  if  they  thus  easily  afford  some 
means  of  sport  and  pastime.     No  sooner, 
however,  has  the   reader    come    to    this 
conclusion  than  the  fifth  sentence  itself  pre- 


iHiriiMfPiiiiiiiiiniinMrnii-r'- 


^ 


iderstand, 
rjection  of 
des  in  the 
ig  way,  it 
rethinking 
raph  is  the 
he  Univer- 
)lem  of  the 
on  between 
e,  and  the 
ence  of  the 
t  a  student 
)ta  will  find 

sports  and 
on,  the  seat 
the  vicinity 
e  Nebraska 
es,  a  proper 
entences,   if 

of  Vermil- 
ifford  some 

No  sooner, 
me  to  this 
ce  itself  pre- 


IWkAdKAl'IIS. 


IS9 


sents  in  another  way  new  difficulties.  There 
is  the  problem  of  makinj^  sense  out  of  the 
two  clauses  of  this  sentence.  What  connec- 
tion, the  reader  asks,  can  there  be  between 
searchint;  for  jjeological  specimens— which 
assuredly  in  the  reader's  experience  is  not 
a  sport  or  a  pastime — and  picnicking  on 
the  well  wooded  Nebraska  bluffs.^  By 
carefully  rethinking  the  matter  ti;e  reader 
discovers  that  since  the  Nebraska  bluffs 
are  near  Vermillion,  contain  geological 
specimens,  and  are  well  wooded,  students 
of  the  University  of  South  Dakota  can 
make  the  searching  for  geological  speci- 
mens not  a  hard  task,  but  a  delightful 
recreation,  by  combining  investigation  with 
picnicking.  Thus  rethought,  and  expressed 
on  paper  as  reconstructed  in  the  mind  of 
the  reader,  the  paragraph  appears  luminous 
throughout,  as  you  yourself  can  see  by  the 
revised  form  which  appears  immediately 
below: 

Vermillion,  the  seat  of  the  State  University,  ia 
admitted  by  all  who  have  seen  the  place  to  be  one 
of  the  moat  pleasant  cities  in  South  Dakota.  Those 


^ 


!.■ 


i 


130. 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLK 


who  enjoy  boiitinn,  huntinir,  and  exonr>*iont*  will 
find    V'erniillion    and    vicinity   well    adapted    for 
HHih  rtportrt.    Those  who  enjoy  rtkatin^j  will  find 
in  winter  an  excellent  body  of  ice  on  the  Vermil- 
lion river.     Those  who  care  for  picnicking;  will 
find  well  wooded  n;roun<l«  adapted  to  rtuch  part- 
time  on  the  Nebraska  bluffs,  which  lie  across  the 
Missouri  river,  about  four  miles  from  Vermillion. 
Now  that  you  understand  in  a  general 
way  why  a  writer  should  make  the  parts 
of  a  paragraph  coherent,  let  me  explain 
how — by  what  principles  and  methods  — 
you    may    make   a    paragraph    coherent. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  Coherence,  which, 
for  lack  of  better  terms,  I  name  respectively 
implicit  and  explicit  coherence.(*) 

The  parts  of  a  paragraph  are  implicitly 
coherent  rvhen  sentences  -which  are  closely 


(1)  The  prlnclpU'  of  Coherence  (iiri  aspect  of  the  principle  of 
Unity  of  Form)  Is  luminously  treated  In  Wendeirs  BntfJixh  C.wn- 
uo8«(«n.  Chap.  IV,  pp.  134-14.5.  I'rofessor  Wendell  explains 
that  t«  his  mind  there  are  three  modes  of  Coherence:  (1)  coher- 
ence by  way  of  the  simple  order  of  the  sentences  forming  the 
parts  of  a  paragraph,  (2)  coherence  by  way  of  sln.llurlty  of 
sentential  structure,  and  O)  coherence  by  way  of  connectives. 
To  my  mind,  however,  similarity  of  sentential  structure  (see 
above  pp  12M20  and  Wendell's  Brti/lteh  ComponJtton.  pp.  i;i7-140) 
Is  so  much  more  a  matter  of  artifice  than  either  of  art  or  of 
loKlc  that  I  cannot  regard  It  as  iHslnR  strictly  a  method  of 
coherence.  Conswiuently  I  regard  only  the  methods  of  order, 
and  of  connectives  as  true  methods  of  coherence. 


^■^h^^ 


ilSiinlWMMii'fiil''**'*" 


^ 


PARAGRAPHS. 


131 


•iirHions*  will 
ii(lii|)te«l  for 
ntx  will  fiml 
I  the  V'ermil- 
niokin^  will 
to  rtiich  pnn- 
ie  arrorts  the 
I  Vermillion. 

1  a  general 

e  the  parts 

me  explain 

methods — 

I    coherent. 

nee,  which, 

espectively 

e  implicitly 
are  closely 

>f  the  principle  of 
ell's  Bntflinh  C(>m- 
kVondell  explains 
lerence:  (Dcoher- 
!nces  forming  the 
■  of  sliiillurlty  of 
y  of  connectives. 
111!  structure  (see 
iMitton,  pp.  1:17-140) 
Ither  of  art  or  of 
!tly  a  method 
nethods  of 
nee. 


jthod  of  I 

it  order.  I 


connected  in  thought  are  in  juxtaposition 
on  the  written  pai^e.  By  this  arrangement 
of  the  order  of  sentences  in  a  paragraph  a 
reader  naturally  feels  or  perceives  the 
connection  of  sentence  with  sentence  and 
with  the  whole.  The  following  paragraph 
(quoted  above,  pp.  116-117)  is  a  good 
example  of  the  lack  of  implicit  coherence. 
I  have  bracketed  the  parts  (sentences) 
which  are  related  in  thought,  and  which, 
therefore,  should  be  placed  in  juxtaposition 
on  the  written  page: 

[Biiller's  adviince  occupied  Mucluulod«>rp  this 
afternoon.  The  enemy  made  a  poor  t^tand  and 
retired  northward,  followed  bj-  Diindonald't* 
mounted  troopa,  who  could  not  proceed  beyond 
Helvetin  on  account  of  the  nature  of  the  country.] 
[It  appears  Buller's  casualties  were  ver}-  few.] 
French  continued  his  movement  today  as  far  as 
Klandsfontein,  from  which  he  turned  the  enemy 
out  without  much  difficulty.  [Buller'a  casualties 
were  27  killed;  wounded,  several  ofticers  and  fiO 
men.] 

The  writer  of  this  paragraph  just  quoted 

had  in  mind  the  military  movements  of  two 

British  generals.     In  the  first,  second,  and 

third  sentences  of  this  paragraph  he  writes 


^ 


i  ]> 


I    ! 


,3j  PKINCIIM.KS  OK  STVI.K 

about  one  ^a-neral.    In  the  fourth  sentence, 
beeuuse,  no  doubt,  the  thou^MU  ^^\^out  the 
movements  of  the  other  ^^eneral  /nrppe.s 
to  come  into  mind,  the  writer  immechately 
yields  to  the  presence  c^f  a  new  and  different 
thou^d^t,  and  places  it  on  the  written  page. 
In  the  r.fth  sentence  the  writer  returns  to 
complete  the  subject-matter  of  the  move- 
ments of  the  first  ,a-neral.     You  see  or  feel 
for  yourself,  surely,  that  this  hfth  sentence, 
since  it  is  actually  connected  in  thou.dU  with 
the  tnrst,  second,  and  third  sentenees  shou  d 
be  placed  immediately  side  by  side  with 
its  logical   eomrades.      In   that   way   the 
paragraph  has  not  only  strict  logical  struct- 
ure,  but  also  better  artistic  structure:  the 
ease  in  reading  and  in  understanding  the 
connection  of  thought  appeals  immensel) 
to  a  reader's  sense  of  nicety  of  adjustment 
(construction),  to  a  reader's  sense  of  beauty 
To  appreciate  the  value  of  coherence  re-read 
the  paragraph  cited  as  it  appears  immedi- 
atelv  below  in  its  revised  form: 

Boiler',  advance  occupied  Machadodorp  th.« 


^ 


I'AKAdUArils. 


>33 


1  sentence, 

about  the 

il  //(ippfiis 

nmcdiately 

ricUlifferent 

ritten  pajic. 

returns  to 

[  the  move- 

u  see  or  feel 

th  sentence, 

liouj^ht  with 

;nces,  should 

y  siile  with 

at  way  the 

)irical  struct- 

ructure:  the 

standing  the 

s  immensely 

if  adjustment 

nse  of  beauty. 

jrence  re-read 

ears  immedi- 

•n: 

chadodorp  thia 


Hftornooii.  Till-  om-iiiy  iikkU'  n  poor  Hfnml  iind 
rt'liffil  Mortliwiinl.  fnllowt'd  l>y  niitidoiialdV 
iiioiintfd  troopf*.  wlu)  oonld  not  proret'd  heyotid 
llidvi'liii  on  iioi-oiuit  of  till-  natiiiv  of  tlif  fniintry. 
It  iipprarrt  HiilltT'r*  »-iir«uiiltii'n  wiTf  vory  few  - 
kilk'd,  2H;  woiiiidi-d,  rtovfrid  onU-ern  imil  ."lO  iiu'ii. 
Fri'Mch  I'otitinufd  his  movfiiH'tit  lodiiy  ii«  fur  iit* 
Klilt)d^«f(ll)t(Ml1,  from  wliiili  In-  tnrtu'd  tlu'  ciuiny 
out  without  miicli  ditlU-idty. 

You  arc  anxious  now,  no  doubt,  to  know 
by  what  mechanical  devices  a  writer  may  ' 
secure  coherence  in  the  parts  of  a  paragraph. 
There  is  none.  Adroit  management  of  the 
order  of  the  sentences  within  a  paragraph 
is  solely  a  matter  of  careful  and  clear 
thinking.  In  revisinij;  your  ori^^inai  com- 
positions, then,  with  an  eye  to  the  coherence 
of  the  parts  of  a  paraji^raph,  see  that  sen- 
tences closely  connected  in  thoujjht  are  as 
tnuch  as  possible  in  juxtaposition  on  the 
written  paj?e. 

Secondly:  The  parts  of  a  paragraph  are 
explicitly  coherent  iv/ien  the  sentences  of  a 
paragraph  overtly  refer  to  the  thouoht 
contained  in  each  other  by  rvay  of  internal 
or  initial  connectives.  An  internal  con- 
nective is  a  word,  phrase,  or  clause  which 


^ 


'^■l 


li 


\ 


\i 


ri 


li 

!■ 
1 


.,,    '  PKINCIPLK^  OF  STYLK, 

■34 

exists  in  the  body  of  each  sentence  of  a 
paragraph,  and  which  repeats  or  as  the> 
say,  'echoes'  the  leading  word,  phrase  or 
clause  of  a  preceding  sentence,  or  which 
distinctly  refers  to  the  topic  of  a  succeeding 
sentence,  or  hints  at  its  contents.  An  iniia 

connective  does  not  differ  in  general  nature 
and  function  from  an  internal  connective: 
it  exists  at  the  very  beginning  of  each  sen- 
tence of  a  paragraph;  but  from  its  very 
position  it  is  a  viere  connective,  and,  the. e- 
fore,  a  weaker  method  of  coherence  than 
an  internal  connective.  Here  :.  a  good 
example  of  both  kinds  of  connectives: 

'      The  Abb.  Ca^^rain  is  a  writable  prod,K.o 
Hi.  race,  ^^^  .r^'^^^^^TTi^^^nX 

,he    French.  »n<l    of    .he    1-rench    ""^^"f' 

-,rhThrrei*r;„eah.^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Providence.      Perhaps,  too,  of  this  clioaea  p 


^ 


-rt 


itence  of  a 

or,  as  they 

,  phrase,  or 

;,  or  which 

I  succeeding 

s.  An  initial 

neral  nature 

connective: 

of  each  sen- 

om  its  very 

e,  and,  theie- 

lerence  than 

re  :5  a  good 

nectives: 

ible  product  of 
ti,  his  locality. 
Frenchman,  as 
c,  and  writes  in 
r  one  of  these 
race.histongue, 
To    him    the 
rythinff  good  in 
:  rio  race  equals 
ch    no    branch 
erved  from    the 
le  remoteness  to 
le  special  care  of 
his  choaea  peo- 


PAKAGKAPHS. 


«.?5 


/)/e,  none  are  quite  equal  to  those  alonjj  the  St. 
I.awrence,  or,  more  particularly,  those  dwelling 
upon  the  chilly  side  of  Cape  Diamond.(l) 

Coherence  amongst  the  parts  (sentences) 
of  a  paragraph  means  that  the  relation 
between  sentence  and  sentence  is  intelligible 
and  clear  to  the  reader.  The  second  sen- 
tence of  the  paragraph  just  quoted  is  intel- 
ligibly and  clea/ly  connected  with  the  tirst 
sentence  by  the  pronoun  '■/le''  in  the  second 
sentence:  the  reader  cannot  fail  to  under- 
stand at  once  that  the  pronoun  'Ae'  refers 
to  the  subject  of  the  first  sentence,  to  the 
Abbe  Casgrain.  This  pronoun  '^e'  in 
the  second  sentence  is  an  internal  connective. 
The  tirst  phrase  of  the  third  sentence  of 
the  paragraph  quoted  is  intelligibly  and 
clearly  connected  with  the  second  sentence 
by  the  phrase, '  In  every  one  of  these  capac- 
ities.'' The  reader  is  not  compelled  to  stop 
and  ask — '  What  capacities  f  It  is  quite 
clear  that  the  reference  is  to  the  ways  in 


(1)  Quoted  by  Carpenter  In  his  Ei«rct»e»  in  Rhetnric  and 
Compogition.  pp,  175-178.  The  Inltliil  and  Internnl  connectives 
are  IndlcateJ  by  Itulictzed  words. 


JUJi' 


^ 


i  I 


,36  PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLE. 

which  the  Abbe  Cas^rain  writes,  the  ways 
just  summarized  in  the  second  sentence- 
namely,  ^as  a  Frenchman,  as  a  French 
Canadian,  as  a  Catholic,  and.  . .  .in  the 
French    himrtiaire:      The   phrase  which 
begins  the  third  sentence  of  the  paragraph 
quoted  above  is  an  initial  connective;  or  if 
the  accent  be  placed  on  the  words  '  these 
capacities:  this  phrase  is,  more  properly, 
an  internal  connective.     The  fourth  sen- 
tence of   the  paragraph  quoted  above  is 
intelligibly  and  clearly  connected  by  the 
phrase  'to  him;  at  the  beginning  of  third 
sentence,  with   the  subject  of  either  the 
third,  second,  or  first  sentence:  the  refer- 
ence of  the  phrase  'to  him'  is  quite  unmis- 
takable; no  one  else  is  meant  than  the  Abbe 
Casgrain,  who  writes  as  a  Frenchman,  as  a 
French  Canadian,  as  a  Catholic,  and  in  the 
French  language.      The  phrase  'to  htm' 
in  the  fourth  sentence  is  strictly  an  mitial 
connective.     The  fifth  sentence  of  the  par- 
agraph  just  quoted   contains  an  internal 
connective,   namely,   the   phrase  '  of  this 


^^t^SfjgjjgffjsOi^i)*'^^^^' 


«hs»» 


^ 


the  ways 
intence — 
I  French 
. . . in  the 
,se  which 
)aragraph 
tive;  or  if 
rds  ^  these 

properly, 
[)urth  sen- 
[  above  is 
ed  by  the 
ig'  of  third 
eithe*-  the 

the  lefer- 
lite  unmis- 
n  the  Abbe 
ihman,  as  a 
:,  and  in  the 
e  '  to  him  ' 
^  an  initial 
:  of  the  par- 
an  internal 
ise  '  of  this 


I'.\KAC.kAl'i;S. 


m 


chosen  people'  This  phrase  directly  causes 
the  reader's  thouo:ht  to  understand  at  once 
who,  in  the  mind  of  the  Abbe  Casgrain, 
are  the  chosen  people  of  God.  The  Abbe 
Casurain,  as  our  writer  tells  the  reader, 
believes  that  the  Turanian  peoples  are  in 
general  a  select  race;  the  Celts  are  a  select 
branch  of  the  Turanian  race;  the  French,  a 
still  more  select  branch  of  the  Celts;  while 
the  French  Canadians,  especially  those 
along  the  lower  St.  Lawrence,  or  more 
particularly,  those  dwelling  along  the  chilly 
^,.J  •  of  Cape  Diamond,  are  in  the  mind  of 
t'  e  Me  Casgrain  the  most  select  of  the 
1\.'>.  ;v  ,n,  of  the  Celtic,  of  the  French  race. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader  that  the  phrase  '  this  chosen  people'' 
are  the  French  Canadians  who  live  along 
the  lower  St.  Lawrence  and  Cape  Diamond. 
The  phrase— 'o/  this  chosen  people'— \s^ 
as  I  said,  an  internal  connective. 

The  paragraph  which  I  quoted  above 
illustrates  internal  and  initial  connectives 
which  refer  to  the  content  or  topic  of  a  pre- 


^ 


U8 


PKINCIPI.KS  OK  STYI.K 


c^^/V/i,'- sentence.  Here,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  three  paragraphs  which  ilhistrate  the 
use  of  initial  and  internal  connectives  that 
refer  to  the  contents  or  topic  of  the  sen- 
tences which  f'oUoiv  the  sentence  containing 
the  connectives.(*) 

Let  me  repent  what  I  have  often  said  of  the 
characteristics  wliicli  mark  the  Kn>;:lish  spirit, 
the  KtiKlish  jienins.  This  spirit,  this  <reni"><. 
judged,  to  he  sure,  rather  from  a  friend's  than  an 
enemy's  point  of  view,  yet  jndj^ed  on  the  whole 
fairly,  is  characterised,  I  have  repeatedly  said,  by 
energy  with  honesty.  Take  away  some  of  the 
energy  which  comes  to  us,  as  I  believe,  in  part 
from  Celtic  and  Roman  soiirces;  instead  of  energy, 
say  rather  steadiness;  and  yon  have  the  Oermanic 
genius:  steadiness  with  honesty.  It  is  evident 
how  nearly  the  characterisations  approach  one 
another;  and  yet  they  leave,  us  we  shall  see,  a 
great  deal  of  room  for  ditference.('2) 

The  first  sentence  of  the  paragraph  just 
quoted  contains  an  internal  connective  that 
refers  to  the  contents  of  following  sentences, 
namely,  the  word  'repeat'     To  be  sure, 


(1)  As  before  the  connectives  are  Indicated  hy  Italicized 
words. 

(2)  Matthew  Arnold:  The  Studj/  »/  C^tic  LtUratuie. 


v^^geiatt»i3(siitifcjiakiBKfl»«j 


her  hand, 
strate  the 
tives  that 
f  the  sen- 
:ontaining 

^aifl  of  the 
flish  spirit, 
liB  jjeniurt, 
id's  than  an 
I  the  whole 
dly  said,  bj' 
onie  of  the 
sve,  in  part 
dof  enerjjy, 
e  Germanic 
is  evident 
preach  one 
shall  see,  a 

graph  just 
active  that 
sentences, 
3  be  sure, 


d  by  Italicized 
leratwe. 


•jaxasf^w!^^. 


PARAGRAPHS. 


«39 


this  word  refers  to  the  contents  of  preceding 
sentences,  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  used 
to  mark  out  what  the  reader  must  expect 
to  find  in  the  following  sentences.  The 
fourth  sentence  of  this  paragraph  contains 
another  internal  connectix  e  that  refers  to 
the  content  of  following  sentences,  namely, 
the  phrase  ''as  ive  shall  see^  (perhaps,  also, 
the  word  'je/').  The  reader  is  prepared 
by  this  phrase  to  look  for  certain  thoughts 
in  the  sentences  which  follow  the  one  con- 
taining this  phrase:  the  reader  knows  dis- 
tinctly what  in  general  shall  be  the  content 
of  the  sentences  to  follow.  The  two  sen- 
tences which  contain  the  connectives  just 
appreciated  are  noteworthy  in  another  way : 
they  show  that  a  connective  which  refers  to 
the  future,  to  what  a  reader  must  expect  to 
find  on  the  written  page,  may  appear  some- 
Inhere  near  the  beginning  of  a  sentence,  or 
someivhere  near  the  end.  The  word  ^repeaf 
appears  near  the  beginning  of  the  first  sen- 
tence: the  phrase  ^as  ive  shall  see,''  near 
the  close  of  the    fourth   or  last  sentence. 


/^ 


140 


PKINCIl'LKS  OK  STYLK 


Expert  writers,  of  course,  place  their  con- 
nectives in  cither  position,  according  to  the 
special  needs  of  the  art  of  tine  composition.  I 
submit  examples  from  two  different  writers: 

I  placed  before  you  in  a  few  words,  some  little 
time  aK'o,  a  rttatoiiieiit  of  the  Hum  and  Mubrttance 
of  MiltonV  hypothesis.  Lot  tite  iion-  try  iostnto, 
us  hriL'tly,  iltc  effect  of  tbv  cinnnistuntial  evi- 
dence heariiiii  upon  the  pnst  history  of  the 
earth  which  is  furnished,  without  the  possibility 
of  mistake,  with  no  chance  of  error  as  to  its  chief 
features,  by  the  stratified  rocks.  What  we  tind  is, 
that  the  i^reat  series  of  formations  represents  a 
period  of  time  of  which  our  human  chronologies 
hardly  afford  us  a  unit  of  measure.(l) 

The  second  sentence  of  the  paragraph 
just  quoted  begins  a  new  topic  of  discourse, 
with  a  distinct  statement  of  what  that  topic 
will  be.  The  phrase  '  Lef  me  noiv  try  to 
state '  is  a  connective  which  refers  to  the 
future,  but  which  appears  in  the  beginning 
of  the  sentence  containing  the  connective. 
•  Connectives  which  refer  to  the  future  may, 
however,  be  placed  in  the  end  of  a  sentence, 
as  in  the  following  paragraph: 


ri)   T.  H.  Huxley.  Three  Lectures  on  Evolution:  Lecture  I. 


;heir  con- 
ing to  the 
[Kisition.  I 
it  writers: 

Home  little 
.  !4nbrttancc 
rr  iostnto, 
uiitial  eri- 
ory  of  the 
possibility 
to  its  chief 
It  we  find  is, 
epresents  a 
ironolog;ie8 

paragraph 
discourse, 

that  topic 
1W7V  try  to 
:ers  to  the 

beginning 
;onnective. 
uture  may, 
a  sentence, 


in:  Leetwe  I. 


PAkAGKAPHS. 


141 


A  reco^rnition  of  the  heatity  of  wt'll -ordered 
words,  a  stroiij^  desire,  patience  under  discourage- 
ments, and  promptness  in  counting:  every  occasion 
as  of  consequence,  -these  are  the  simple  i»jj;encies 
which  sweep  one  on  to  power.  Watch  j-our  speech, 
then.  That  is  all  which  is  needed.  Only  it  is 
desirable  to  know  what  qualities  of  speech  to 
watch  for.  I  find  three  of  them,  -accuracy.audac- 
ity.and  range,— «/J</i  trilJ  siij'u  fcir  ironls  uhout 
vucli.(l) 

The  last  sentence  of  the  above  paragraph 
closes  with  the  clause — 'amf  I  ivUl  say  a 
feiv  ivords  about  each:  To  be  sure  this 
clause  harks  back  to  the  thought  of  the 
preceding  sentence,  namely,  the  thought 
about  the  literary  '■qualities  of  speech^^ 
which,  as  the  author  says,  are  three — 
'■accuracy^  audacity,  and  range:  At  the 
same  time  this  clause  refers  distinctly  to 
the  future:  the  author  ivill  say  a  few 
words  about  each  of  these  qualities,  namely, 
accuracy,  audacity,  and  range.  So  that  a 
reader  knows,  at  least  in  general,  just  what 
to  expect:  all  the  sentences  and  paragraphs 


(1)  G.  H.  Palnior:  Sdf-CuUleatinn  in  EnulMi.  I  do  not  ulwiiys 
quote  the  whole  of  the  original  para(?riiph,  l)ut  often,  as*  here, 
only  so  much  us  serves  my  own  purpose  of  IllustratloH. 


142 


PRINCIPl.KS  OK  STYLK. 


that  follow  will  be  connected  with  the  topic 
of  the  qualities  of  speech. 

Let  me  add  now  just  a  word  of  warning. 
While,  indeed,  a  failure  on  the  part  of  a 
writer   to   use    connectives    freely    causes 
obscurity,  or,  as  they  say,  makes  what  is 
written  ''hard  readin^;,"  an   unintelligent 
or  excessive  use  of  connectives  destroys 
ease  and  vigor  of  style,  makes  it,  as  they 
say,  "  pedestrian."    If  you  ask  me,  then,  b} 
what    mechanical   devices   a    writer   may 
secure  coherence  amongst  the  parts  of  a 
paragraph  by  way  of  a  'free'  use  of  con- 
nectives, I  must  answer,  as  before:   There 
is  none.     Adroit  management  of  internal 
and  initial  connectives  in  tb     sentences  of 
a  paragraph  is  solely  a  mat,    -  of  careful 
and  clear  thinking,  or  of  taste  and  skill.  In 
revising  your  original  compositions,  then, 
see  that  some  word,  phrase,  or  clause  of 
each  sentence  repeats  or  echoes  the  leading 
thought  or  topic  of  a  preceding  sentence, 
or  distinctly  refers  to  the  topic  of  a  succeed- 
ing sentence,  or  hints  at  its  contents. 


1  the  topic 

warning;. 

part  of  a 
ly  causes 
;s  what  is 
intelligent 
;  destroys 
t,  as  they 
s,  then,  b> 
riter  may 
sarts  of  a 
se  of  con- 
re:  There 
)f  internal 
ntences  of 
of  careful 
d  skill.  In 
ions,  then, 
•  clause  of 
he  leading 

sentence, 
a  succeed- 
tents. 


I'AKAdKAPIIS. 


•43 


Principles  and  Methods  of  Interconnect- 
ing a  Series  of  Paragraphs. — Since  a  whole 
composition  contains  a  series  of  paragraphs 
that  develop  a  single  idea,  the  series  of 
paragraphs  must  be  made  coherent.  Strict 
logical  order  in  the  sequence  of  the  series 
of  paragraphs  secures  coherence  amongst 
the  paragraphs.  But  since  coherence  by 
way  of  order  is  but  implicit  connection, 
the  relations  of  paragraph  to  paragraph 
cannot  appear  to  the  mind  of  a  reader  until 
the  reader  thinks  out  their  relations.  But 
while  implicit  coherence  is  indeed  an  abso- 
lute necessity  in  all  artistic  composition, 
explicit  coherence  b)-  way  of  connectives, 
initial  and  internal,  retrospective  and  pros- 
pective, is  of  immense  value  in  making  a 
series  of  paragraphs  appear  as  an  interde- 
pendent series,  as  parts  of  a  great  whole. 

The  connectives  of  a  series  of  paragraphs 
should  appear  in  Xhtjirst  sentence  or  sen- 
tences of  each  paragraph,  or  in  the  last 
sentence  or  sentences.  If  a  connective 
appears  in  the  first  sentence  of  a  paragraph, 


m- 


¥ 


i 


r» 


,^  PKINCIPI.KS  OF  STYI.K. 

it    is    called    a    retrospective    connective; 
because  it  refers  to  the  content  or  topic  of 
the  immediately  preceding  paragraph.     If 
a  connective  appears  in  the  last  sentence 
(,r  sentences  of  a  para^^raph,  it  is  called  a 
prospective  connective;  because  it  refers  to 
the  content  or  topic  of  the  immediately  suc- 
ceeding parajrraph.  Let  me  illustratethe  use 
of  the  two  kinds  of  paragraph-connectives. 
Here  are  two  paragraphs  which  are  inter- 
connected  by  a  retrospective  connective: 

Whoever  Koe^  to  hi^  ^rave  with  bml  KtiRlish 
in  hi     nouth  ha.  no  one  to  hhnue  hut  '-.-'*;- 

thedi.a^.reeahle  ta«te;  for  ^' '^^^^ ;^^'''XZ^Z 
inherited  it  can  he  exterminated  too.  I  hopi  to 
poin  o  '  on.e  of  the  n.ethod.  of  .nh.titut.n^^ 
lood  Kn^fliBh  for  had.  And  .ince  my  .pace  .« 
S  and  I  wi.h  to  be  remen>hered.  I  throw  what 
a;j  to  .ay  into  the  form  of  four  «'-;/^'- /J-j 
cents  which,  if  pertinaciously  obeyed  w.U  I 
beUevcgive  anybody  effective  n.a.tery  of  Kn^,h.h 

an  a  tool.  „    ,.  . 

F,r«<,  then.  "Look  well  to  your  .peech.      I    i. 

commo;iy  .nppo.ed  that  when  V^:;^^^^^ 
arv  newer  he  Roe.  to  hin  room  and  plan,  an  article 
or  the  pTe««.  But  thi«  i«  to  begin  literary  cultt.re 
aUhe  wronK  end.  We  .peak  a  hundred  time,  for 
eler^  once  we  write.  The  t,uBie.t  wrUer  produce, 
mtle  u>ore  than  a  volume  a  year,  not  bo  much  a« 


'H^-Jt..--^- 


Ji 


:onnective; 

or  topic  of 
igraph.  If 
St  sentence 

is  called  a 
;  it  refers  to 
diately  sue- 
tratetheuse 
•onnectives. 
•h  are  inter- 
innective: 

bud  Kn^-lirth 
lit  liiiii>*elf  for 
rtpeecli  ciin  he 
oo.     I  lioiH-  to 

t^nbrttitiitinjjf 
;  my  rtpnce  is 
,  I  throw  whsit 
r  simple  prv- 
beyed,  will,  I 
eryof  KnKlish 

tipeecb."  1<  if* 
iiiin  aeekH  litor- 
)liinH  an  article 
iterary  culture 
idred  tinie><  for 
writer  producet* 
lot  so  much  as 


PAKAdKAlMIS. 


145 


his*  talk  would  auionnt  to  in  a  week.  C  <)nne«|iu«ntly 
tlirouuli  speech  it  in  Uf«ually  decided  whether  a 
man  ir*  to  have  ctunmand  of  bin  lan^ua^e  or 
not.(l> 

The  topic  or  content  of  the  second  of 
the  para},'raphs  quoted  above  is  connected 
with  the  preceding;  one  by  the  word  '  First.' 
A  reader  perceives  at  once  that  this  word 
'  First '  refers  to  the  first  of  the  \fimr  sim- 
ple precepts,''  obedience  to  which,  as  the 
author  says,  will  <;ive  anybody  effective 
mastery  of  English  as  a  tool.  This  word 
'  First,'  appearing  as  it  does  in  the  very 
bej^inning  of  the  second  paragraph,  and 
referring  distinctly  to  a  definite  statement 
in  the  preceding  paragraph,  is  an  initial 
retrospective  paragraph-connective. 

Here,  again,  are  two  paragraphs,  the 
second  of  which  contains  an  internal  retro- 
spective connective,  in  the  form  of  a  phrase: 

The  Rood  man,  then,  according  to  the  he<lon- 
iHtic  estimate,  ia  Himply  a  reliable  instrument, 
warranted  not  to  j^o  wronjr,  but  to  continue  wtead- 


(1)  O.  H.  I'liliiii'r:  Self-Cvlth'athm  In  Knolhli.  See  above  note, 
(t)  p.  141.  Here,  as  before,  tbe  foniiei-tlves  are  indicated  by 
Italicized  wordx.    . 


fl 


141 


I'klNCn'I.KS  OK  STVI.K 


1  [ 


$ 


i'. 


i 


!■■ 


It 


ily  prcMlurinjf  tin-  urciilfnt  imiounJ  of  hiinplneHt* 
po»«Hil)leintlu-i'ircMimrttiiiu-t'«,whfthfrforliiiiiHelf 

or  for  olluTrt. 

\n\v,t  Ill's  intirjirvttitiiui  nfiliiiriHirr.ii  Ht'fiiiH 
to  iiif,  falnUk'rt  tlif  lieallhy  iiionil  oonHoiourttu'Hrt 
of  iiiitikind.  by  uliiiply  revfr(«in^!:  itn  trttiniiitf. 
That  o-ttiiiiate  irt  that  character,  the  attaininent  of 
a  certain  type  iif  perrtonality  or  bent  of  will,  irt 
not  a  iiieanrt  lint  an  erul-in-itrtelf;  tliat  thiH,  an<I 
not  llie  production  «.f  a  certain  state  of  feeling,  in 
the  only  thin^r  which  irt  always  an<l  Hlt«)Kctlier 
>ro(,<l,  and  itself  'the  ultimate  stantlard  of  all 
values."!  1) 

The  phrase  ' /h/'s  interpretation  of  char- 
acter'' refers  immediately  to  the  '-hedonistic 
estimate''  of  human  character  explained  in 
the  preceding  paragraph.  The  phrase  itself 
is,  as  I  said,  an  internal  retrospective  con- 
nective. 

Let  me  now  show  you  three  paragraphs 
interconnected  by  a  prospective  connective: 

The  world  of  Knowledge,  of  Art,  of  Religion, 
does  claim  us  for  itself,  and  our  visits  to  it  ought 
to  be  all  the  more  frequent  because  our  actual 
world  is  apt  to  be  so  meagre  and  confined.  But 
our    acquaintance    with    the    splendours    of   it« 


(1)  J.  Setli:  A  Stmiu  nf  Ethieol  Principlei:  I  have  curtailed 
till"  number  of  Bentenceslii  the  orlRlnal  pHranruphH  for  my  own 
purpoHeH. 


of  hiijiplneHrt 
ler  for  liiiiiHflf 

irti'r,  it  Het'iiiH 
"otirtoiounneHH 
itrt  i-Htiiii)iti>. 
iittnininent  of 
t?nt  of  will,  irt 
hilt  tluH,  and 
L-  of  fet'lin^,  irt 
n<l  iiltojfethcr 
imdiird   of  till 

(ion  of  char- 
i  *■  hedonistic 
L'xplained  in 
phrase  itself 
pective  con- 

:  paragraphs 

J  connective: 

1,  of  ReliK'o". 
itrt  to  it  ou^ht 
irte  oiir  actual 
■onfined.  But 
ndours    of  itt« 


I  huve  curtailed 
itrupliN  for  my  own 


PAKAC.RAPHS. 


•47 


"many  iininHionrt"  nuir^t  tu-vt-r  bn-ed  in  onr  noulrt 
c-ontfiiipt  for  till'  niirrowm-Krt  and  mean  appoint- 
nu'ntrt  of  the  lioiirte  of  our  earthly  pilurima^je.  It 
iH  a  dant^er  and  temptation  neither  unreal  nor 
unfamiliar.    Lvt  its  tnkotwD  Uliistrutioiin  of  it. 

The  artirttio  temjjer  In  apt  to  be  impatiOnt  of 
thccommon|)laceness  of  itmlaily  life;\ve  an'  .vont, 
indeed,  to  attribute  to  it  a  kin<l  of  praetir.'l  irre- 
rtponrtihility.  Led  by  virtionw  of  the  beautiful  into 
the  ronumtic  country  of  the  imagination,  the 
rtpirit  irt  loth  to  return  to  the  prortaic  lieidrt  of 
ordinary  daily  duty.  Itrt  emotionrt  are  ideal,  an<l 
find  no  irtrttie  in  action  on  the  earthly  plane;  and 
more  and  nu)re  it  irt  felt  that  there  irt  no  scope  for 
rtuch  emotionrt  in  the  actual  world. 

Or  take  the  "  Saint"  who,  with  hirt  eye  tiN-  d  on 
the  Heyond.  abrttractrt  hiuirtelf  from  tliirt  eartfiiy 
life.eitlier  phyrtically  art  in  mediu'val  Monarttivirt'u 
or  actually  and  in  the  inner  temple  of  the  heart, 
like  many  a  modern  I'roterttant,  uiin^linK^  with 
hirt  fellowrt  art  if  he  were  not  of  them,  not  in  hy pot  • 
rirty  or  pride,  but  in  real  rapt  abrttraction  of  apirit, 
afraid  lewt  he  soil  hirt  hands  with  the  world's  bua- 
inertrt  and  render  them  unfit  for  the  tirtcrt  of  thc- 
heavenly  commerce.  Such  a  life  not  only  mirtsert 
the  influence  it  might  have  exerted  on  the  world, 
but  proves  itself  unworthy  of,  and  unfit  for,  the 
hi)f her  just  in  the  measure  that  it  fails  in  the 
lower  duties.(l) 

A  prospective  connective,  you  remember 
my  saying,  must  appear  in  the  last  sentence 


141. 


(1)  J.8eth:4S<udi/o/M/ilcttlPr<nci|jie8.8eealM)veiiotc  ui  p. 


p-f 


I4S 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


(or  sentences)  of  a  paragraph.    The  whole 
of  the  concluding  sentence  of  the  tirst  par- 
agraph quoted  above,  or  the  phrase  'hvo 
ilhistraiions  of  it,'  contained  in  that  sen- 
tence, directly  connects  the    topic  of  the 
two  succeeding  paragraphs  with  the  topic 
of  the  tirst  paragraph.  A  reader  inevitably 
expects  to  see  on  the  written  page  two  illus- 
trations of  the  temptation  for  the  Scholar, 
or  \rtist,  or  Saint,  to  turn  from  the  active, 
workaday,  hard  life  of  men  in  general.  Since 
the  written  page  is  thus  made  explicitly 
coherent  by  the  writer,  a  reader    cannot 
fail  to  understand  the  writer's  meaning:  all 
the  ideas  are  connected  and  appear  on  the 
written  page  in  the  natural  or  logical  order 
expected  by  the  reader. 

You  are  anxious  now,  no  doubt,  to  learn 
whether  there  are  any  mechanical  devices 
the  employment  of  which  will  help  one  to 
secure  the  effective  interconnection  of 
paragraph  with  paragraph  in  a  whole  com- 
position. In  this  case,  as  in  the  others, 
adroit    management    of    interconnections 


^ 


The  whole 
the  tirst  par- 
phrase  ''hvo 

in  that  sen- 
topic  of  the 
ith  the  topic 
er  inevitably 
age  two  illus- 
the  Scholar, 
m  the  active, 
eneral.  Since 
de  explicitly 
lader    cannot 
meaning:  all 
ppear  on  the 
logical  order 

oubt,  to  learn 
mical  devices 
11  help  one  to 
onnection  of 
a  whole  com- 
n  the  others, 
erconnections 


PA  K  AGRA  PI  IS. 


»# 


amongst  a  series  of  paragraphs  is  solely  a 
matter  of  careful  and  clear  thinking,  or  of 
taste  and  skill.  If  you  yourself,  the  writer 
of  a  piece  of  prose  composition,  do  not 
know  precisely  what  you  mean  to  say, 
mechanical  devices  can  not  help  you.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  you  yourself  do  know 
precisely  what  you  mean  to  say,  the  artistic 
composition  of  what  you  write  down  on 
paper  is  solely  a  matter  of  expressing 
your  thoughts  precisely  as  you  think  them. 
Intelligent  and  clear  thinking  is  the  only 
recipe  for  the  logical  and  artistic  expression 
of  thought  and  feeling  by  means  of  written 
words. 

In  revising  your  original  compositions, 
then,  with  an  eye  to  the  implicit  and  explicit 
interconnection  of  a  series  of  paragraphs, 
see,  first,  that  your  paragraphs  follow  one 
another  in  strict  logical  order,  and,  secondly, 
that  at  the  beginning  or  close  of  each  par- 
agraph you  explicitly  indicate  the  relation 
of  each  paragraph  c  its  fellows  by  a  free, 
but  intelligent  use   of  connectives,  initial 


g^wm.,  UiOWB^i 


^ 


i; 


«S0 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 


or  internal,  prospective  or  retrospective. 
I  have  now  tau^fht  you  something  about 
the  nature  and  function  of  paragraphs,  and 
about  the  principles  and  methods  of  con- 
structing paragraphs.  In  my  next  chap- 
ter I  shall  teach  you  something  about  the 
nature  and  function  of  sentences,  and  about 
the  principles  and  methods  of  composing 
sentences  artistically. 


rospective. 
ling  about 
;raphs,  and 
ids  of  con- 
next  chap- 
f  about  the 
and  about 
composing 


CHAPTER  IV. 

sentences:  their    naiure  and  function.— th.    com- 
posing  OK    sentences:    structural    principles. — 

THE  punctuating- OF  SENTENCES:  METHODS  BASED 
ON  THE  LENGTH  AND  THE  FORM  OF  SENTENCES. — 
WORDS  AS  MATERIALS  OF  COMPOSITION:  PRINCIPLES 
OF   CHOOSING    THEM. 

Sentences:  Their  Nature  and  Function. — 

Customarily  all  treatises  of  Rhetoric  dis- 
tinguish sentences  by  their  quantity  and 
their  quality.  In  quantity  sentences  are 
either  short,  or  long;  in  quality  sentences 
are  either  simple,  compound,  or  complex, 
and  either  loose,  or  periodic.  Since  we 
are  here  concerned  only  with  the  structural 
principles  which  govern  the  artistic  composi- 
tion of  sentences,  we  need  not  care  whether 
sentences  are  short,  long,  simple,  compound, 
complex,  loose,  or  periodic.  Whatever 
length  or  form  any  given  sentence  may  have, 
the  structural  principles  of  prose  style — 
Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity  of  Form — 
mean  the  same  thing  and  have  the  same  appli- 
cation.    But  while  this  is  true,  we  should 


^ 


^.jc^^M^ji-.^iitsfti^fiAfii^^^it'a^'^t^yxA^ 


152 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE, 


;  I 


understand  something  of  the  ji^eneral  nature 
and  function  of  sentences.(')  Physically 
viewed  a  sentence  in  general,  like  a  para- 
graph, and  like  a  whole  composition,  is  but 
a  series  of  words;  logically  viewed  a  sen- 
tence in  general,  like  a  paragraph,  and  like 
a  whole  composition,  expresses  a  single 
thought  or  feeling.  A  sentence,  as  well 
as  a  paragraph  and  a  whole  composition, 
is  "  a  series  of  words  so  composed  as  to 
make  complete  sense."  Despite  this  fact 
a  sentence  differs  in  a  specific  way,  both 
ph)sically  and  logically,  from  a  paragraph 
and  from  a  whole  composition.  How  a 
sentence  differs  specifically  from  the  larger 
wholes  of  which  it  is  an  organic  part,  I 
shall  show  you  immediately. 

Examine  a  page  of  any  artistically  com- 


(1)  The  teacher  of  English  OoinpoHltion  should  expliiiii  In 
the  class-room  the  differences  In  the  (juantity  and  quality  of 
sentences,  and  the  rhetorical  advantaKPs  of  each  kind  of  sen- 
tence. For  my  own  part  I  here  say  nothing  about  these  matters, 
because  I  am  dealing  only  with  the  Htiwtural  principles  of 
ptniH  prose  composition.  When,  however.  I  deal  with  punctu- 
ation I  shall  use  the  differences  in  the  quantity  and  quality 
of  sentences  as  a  basis  of  a  simple  method  of  punctuation. 


ineral  nature 
Physically 

like  a  para- 
:)sition,  is  but 
iewed  a  sen- 
aph,  and  like 
ises  a  single 
nee,  as  well 
composition, 
nposed  as  to 
pite  this  fact 
ic  way,  both 

a  paragraph 
[)n.  How  a 
^m  the  larger 
ganic  part,  I 

istically  com- 


I  Hluiuld  expluin  in 
tity  and  quality  of 
f  fiich  kind  of  sen- 
,l)out  these  mutters, 
■tural  principles  of 
deal  with  punctu- 
lantlty  and  quality 
)f  punctuation. 


SKNTKNCKS. 


"53 


posed  book  or  essay:  and  note  simply  and 
solely  what  you  see.     First  of  all:  You  see 
words  massed  in  relatively  large  wholes, 
called    paragraphs  (cf.  above  pp.  94-95  )• 
Secondly:    Within  these  relatively  large 
wholes,  called  paragraphs,  you  see  series 
after  series  of  words  massed  in  relatively 
small  wholes.     Thirdly:  You  see  each  of 
these  relatively  small  wholes  following  one 
another   not,   as  it  were,  end-to-end,    but 
at  an  appreciable,  though  small,  distance 
apart.      Finally:    You  see  each   of  these 
relatively  small  wholes  beginning  with  a 
word  whose  initial  letter  is  capitalized,  and 
ending  with  a  word  whose  last  letter  is 
immediately  followed  by  a  little  black  mark 
or  marks,  called  final  points  of  punctuation. 
These  relatively  small  wholes  of  words, 
whose   external    appearance    I    have    just 
described,  are  .technically  known  as  sen- 
tences.     Now  that  I   have  distinguished 
the  physical  aspect  of   sentences,  let  me, 
next,  explain  the  function  of  sentences. 
As  in  general  it  is  the  business  or  func- 


i;-."^l  ;■■'*"*—■ 


^ 


ir 


'54 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 


tion  of  para«;raphs  to  develop  the  thoujjht 
of  a  whole  composition,  so  in  general  it  is 
the  business  or  function  of  sentences  to 
develop  \\\^  thought  of  a  series  of  para- 
graphs. Or,  as  it  is  the  function  of  each 
one  of  a  series  of  paragraphs  to  present  a 
large  aspect  of  the  thought  of  a  whole 
composition,  so  it  is  the  function  of  each 
one  of  a  series  of  sentences  to  present  a 
small  aspect  of  the  thought  of  a  paragraph. 
When  it  is  said  that  a  sentence  is  a  "series 
of  words  so  composed  as  to  make  complete 
sense,"  it  must  be  understood  that  a  sen- 
tence is  a  series  of  words  which  exist 
7vithin  a  paragraph,  and  which  are  so  com- 
posed as  to  make  complete  sense  regard- 
ing an  aspect  of  the  thought  or  topic  of  a 
paragraph.  Let  me  explain  this  matter 
by  illustrating  my  meaning. 

Revert  once  more  to  the  revised  form 
of  the  first  paragraph  of  the  Discussion  in 
your  theme,  entitled  'A  Student's  Room 
in  Harvard  College '  (p.  69).  This  para- 
graph contains  seven  sentences,  all  of  which 


the  thoujjht 
tjeneral  it  is 
sentences  to 
ies  of  para- 
:tion  of  each 
to  present  a 
of  a  whole 
tion  of  each 
to  present  a 
a  paragraph, 
e  is  a  "series 
ake  complete 
1  that  a  sen- 
which  exist 
\\  are  so  com- 
ense  regard- 
or  topic  of  a 
I  this  matter 

revised  form 
Discussion  in 
dent's  Room 
This  para- 
s,  all  of  which 


SKNTKNCKS. 


«SS 


describe  aspects  of  the  external  appearance 
of  your  student's  room.  The  first  sentence 
announces    the    topic    of     the   paragraph,  ' 
namely,  the  elegance  of  the  mere  exterior 
of   the   room    you    are  describing.      The 
second  and  third  se  ntences  describe  the  door 
and  panellings;  the  fourth  and  fifth  sentences 
describe  the  transom;  and  the  sixth  and 
seventh  sentences  describe  the  letter-box 
and  call-bell.    Not  only,  therefore,  does  this 
paragraph,  as  a  whole  of  seven  sentences, 
say  a  single  thing,  or  make  complete  sense, 
but  also  each  of  the  seven  sentences  says,  a 
single  thing,    or   makes    complete   sense. 
Logically  viewed,  then,  a  sentence  expresses 
an  integral  part  of  the  thought  of  a  para- 
graph:   the   function  of  a   sentence  is  to 
present  an  aspect  of  the  topic  of  a  paragraph 
by  means  of  a  series  of  words  so  composed 
grammatically  as  to  have  always  one  sub- 
ject and  one  predicate,  with  or  without 
modifiers,  and  thus  to  make  sense.    In  revis- 
ing your  original  compositions,  keep  well 
in  mind  the  logical  function  of  sentences. 


"i 

■     '         i 

■  I 
i| 
! 


>\ 


156 


PRINCIPLES  OK  STYLK. 


The  G)mposing  of  Sentences:  Structural 
Principles.— Now  that  I  have  tauj?ht  jou 
romethin^  about  the  j^eneral  nature  and 
function  of  sentences,  I  must  teach  you, 
further,  what  principles  you  must  employ 
in  artistically  composing  sentences.  These 
principles  are  Unity  of  Substance  and  Unity 
of  Form. 

A  sentence  is  a  substantive  part  of  a 
paragraph.  Now  a  paragragh,  as  I  said, 
contains  a  number  of  sentences,  each  of 
which  presents  an  aspect  of  the  topic  of  a 
paragraph,  and  in  this  way  develops  or 
elaborates  the  thought  of  a  paragraph.  As 
the  topic  of  a  paragraph  is  a  thought  liwited 
by  a  special  point  of  view,  so  the  topic  of 
a  sentence  is  a  thought  limited  by  a  special 
point  of  view,  namely,  by  one  of  the  aspects 
of  the  topic  of  the  paragraph  that  contains 
a  given  sentence.  The  principle  of  Unity 
of  Substance  demands  that  every  sentence 
shall  contain  one  and  only  one  idea  {aspect 
of  a  larger  idea).  To  admit  into  a  sentence 
limited  to  presenting  a  particular  aspect  of 


;:  Structural 

tauj^ht  }'ou 

nature  and 

teach  you, 

nust  employ 

noes.  These 

2e  and  Unity 

e  part  of  a 
h,  as  I  said, 
ces,  each  of 
he  topic  of  a 
develops  or 
ragraph.  As 
mg'/ii  Uvtited 
the  topic  of 
i  by  a  special 
3f  the  aspects 
that  contains 
iple  of  Unity 
ery  sentence 
;  idea  {aspect 
ito  a  sentence 
ular  aspect  of 


-T— 


^ 


SKNTKNCKS. 


'57 


a  topic  any  idea  which  happens  to  be  sug- 
gested, but  which  is  irrelevant  to  the  aspect 
under  presentation,  is  to  cause  a  sentence 
not  to  say  a  single  thing,  but  two  or  more 
things  logically  unconnected,  and  thus  to 
violate  the  principle  of  Unity  of  Substance. 
The  following  paragraph  contains  a  sen- 
tence that  lacks  unity  of  Substance: 

VeriniUion  in  adiiiitled  by  all  wlio  have  seen 
the  place  to  he  one  of  the  most  pleasant  cities  in 
South  Dakota.  The  University  is  in  the  north- 
eastern part.  Those  who  enjoy  tioatinjf,  hunting, 
and  excursions  will  find  Vermillion  and  vicinity 
well  adapted  for  such  sports.  Rowinj^:  and  sUat- 
in>?  on  the  river  are  amonjf  the  nuiny  enjoyable 
recreations  of  thestudents.  [Kvery  year  excursion 
parties  visit  the  Nebraska  bluffs  for  geological 
specimens,  since  the  heavy  timber  alonj?  the  Min- 
souri  furnishes  delightful  places  for  picnics] 

The  first  sentence  of  the  paragraph  quoted 
above  announces  the  topic  of  the  paragraph. 
The  topic,  as  you  note,  is  the  pleasant  'loca- 
tion' of  the  city  of  Vermillion,  and,  there- 
fore, of  the  University  of  South  Dakota, 
which  stands  in  the  northeastern  part  of 
that  city.  Every  sentence  in  this  paragraph 
must  make  a  sensible  statement  about  some 


HwUfciliiniTililiiB 


H0 


PRINCIPLKS  Of  STVLK. 


I 
'  I 

'     f 


^1 


aspecf  of  the />M/.sY//// situation  of  the  Uni- 
versit)-  of  South  Dakota;  and  each  sentence 
must    make    a    sensible   statement    about 
a  different  aspect.     The  fifth  or  last  sen- 
tence (bracketed)  does  not  make  a  sensible 
statement  at  all;  for  while  it  does  contain 
an  idea   connected  with  the   topic   of  the 
paragraph,  it  contains  also  a  sugjjested  idea 
not  at  all  thus  connected,  the  idea,  namely, 
of  excursion  parties  visiting  the  Nebraska 
bluffs  for  theological  specimens.      On  first 
view,  it    is    ahs»)4ute    nonsense    to    assert: 
'  Excursion  parties  visit  the  Nebraska  bluffs 
for  iteological  specimens^  since  (because),' 
as  the  author  says,  'the  heavy  timber  along 
the  bluffs  furnishes  delightful    places  for 
picnics.''     If,  as  is  true,  these  bluffs,  which 
are  near   Vermillion,  do  afford  delightful 
places  for  picnicking,  it  is  plain  that  this 
idea  has  logical  connection  with  the  topic 
of  the  paragraph,  namely,  the  pleasantness 
of   the    seat  of  the   University   of    South 
Dakota.      But  it  is  wholly  impossible  to 
connect  geological  investigation  with  the 


of  the  ITni- 
rtch  sentcncL* 
ment    about 

or  last  sen- 
ke  a  sensible 
LJoes  contain 
topic  of  the 
guested  idea 
dea,  namely, 
ie  Nebraska 
s.  On  first 
i  to  assert : 
braska  bluffs 
e  (because),' 
timber  along 
1  places  for 
bluffs,  which 
rd  delightful 
ain  that  this 
'ith  the  topic 
pleasantness 
ty  of  South 
mpossible  to 
ion  with  the 


SEMtNChS. 


•59 


topic  of  the  paragraph,  imless  the  author 
means  that  the  students  of  the  University 
of  South  Dakota  can  make  life  happier  by 
pre/('f/(////i>-  to  search  for  geological  speci- 
mens on  the  well  wooded  bluffs  of  Nebraska, 
while  reu//]'  making  life  happier  by  picnick- 
ing there.  To  give  the  last  sentence  of  the 
paragraph  quoted  above  unity  of  Substance, 
the  irrelevant  idea  or  statement  regarding 
geological  specimens  must  be  eliminated. 
You  will  better  appreciate  my  criticism, 
if  I  revise  the  whole  paragraph  of  which 
the  last  sentence  is  an  integral  part : 

V'eriiiillion,  the  seat  of  the  State  I'niveraity.  iw 
admitted  by  all  who  have  seen  the  place  to  be  one 
of  the  mortt  pleananlcitiert  in  South  Dakota.  Those 
who  enjoj  boating,  hunting!:,  and  excurHions  will 
find  Vermillion  antl  vicinity  well  adapted  for 
such  sports.  Tluwe  who  enjoy  skating  will  find 
in  winter  an  excellent  body  of  ice  on  the  Vermil- 
lion river.  Those  who  care  for  picnicking  will 
find  well  wooded  grounds  adapted  to  such  pas- 
time on  the  Nebraska  bluffs,  which  lie  across  the 
Missouri  river,  about  fcur  miles  from  Vermillion. 

The  sentence  which  I  have  just  criticised 
and  reconstructed  lacks  unity  of  Substance 
merely  because  the  thought  of  the  author  of 


ifio 


PklVriPI.KS  OF  STYLK. 


this  sentent'f  is  not  explicitly  coherent.  The 
two  different   ideas  in  the  two  chiuses  of 
that  sentence  were,  no  doubt,  in  the  mind 
of  the  author  somehow  hi^'ically  connected. 
The    author,    however,    failed     to    make 
explicit   the  connection  of  tlie  two  ideas 
with  the  topic  of  the  paragraph  in  which 
the  sentence  existed.     Let  me,  now,  show 
you   a   sentence  that  lacks  unity  of  Sub' 
stance,   not    because    the   thought    of  the 
author   of   the    sentence   is  not  explicitly 
coherent,  but  because  the  author  writes 
down  on  paper  every  idea  that  happens, 
naturally,  to  be  suggested  by  a  previous 
idea.      The  central  idea    of  the  sentence 
is    modified    again    and    again    by    ideas 
(expressed  in  relative  clauses)  which  each 
preceding    idea    suggests.      This  kind   of 
sentence  has  been  well  named  the  '  I  louse- 
that-Jack-built'  sentence.     Here  is  a  very 
good  case  of  a  sentence  that  lacks  unity  of 
Substance  by  way  of  irrelevant  moditiers: 
In  this  uneasy  state  Cicero  was  oppressed  by 
H  new  and  cruel  aftlictio»i,the  dtath  of  his  daugh- 
ter Tullia.  [which  happened  soon  after  her  divorce 


^ 


•MtnwtM 


(herent.  The 
'()  clauses  of 
in  the  mind 
ly  connected, 
d     to    make 
le  two  ideas 
ph  in  which 
e,  now,  show 
inity  of  Sub- 
)U^ht    of   the 
lot  exphcitly 
lUthor  writes 
hat  happens, 
y  a  previous 
the  sentence 
in    by    ideas 
)  which  each 
This  kind   of 
i  the  '  Mouse- 
ere  is  a  very 
lacks  unity  of 
nt  moditiers: 

IS  opprearted  by 
thof  liirt  daugh- 
jfter  her  divorce 


SKNTKNCKS. 


i6i 


from    DkIiiIhUii.  wlione   miitintTM  iind   humoiirx 
wert'  i-ntiroly  dlrtiiKri-eiibli'  to  Iut|.(I) 

The  sentence  which  I  have  just  quoted 
is  an  excellent  case  of  a  most  univn-  1 
vice  in  authors,  especially  in  youn^  wi  .^i-rs, 
the  vice,  namely,  of  yielding'  to  su^'^estion. 
Let  me  put  the  matter  concretely.  The  last 
two  clauses  of  the  sentence  quoted  above, 
as  it  were,  'danj^le'  on  the  end  of  the  first 
or  principle  clause.  The  principal  chuise 
makes  sense  in  itself,  and  presents  really 
a  single  and  exclusive  idea.  'In  this 
uneasy  state,'  the  clause  reads, '  C/Wn;  7vas 
oppressed  by  a  nerv  and  cruel  affliction, 
the  death  of  his  daughter  TuUia^  The 
thouj^ht  of  this  clause,  you  note,  is  that 
of  the  catise  of  the  heightened  uneasy  state 


(1)  Quoted  In  Baldwin;  T»ie  Kxv»'^Uvrv  Pttmornph  and  Sen- 
•  -nee,  p.  30.  In  treatlnn  of  thlH  matter  of  Unity  of  SubHtiincf 
T.  Baldwin  does  not  conimlt  the  fallacy  Mt  common  In  almost 
all  textbooks  of  Ulietorlc.  the  fallacy,  namely,  of  Inverting 
cause  and  effect.  A  lonK  sentence,  say,  a  sentence  contalnlnn 
a  number  of  relative  clauses,  as.  «.  (/..  the  sentence  (lUoteil 
alKJve,  does  not  violate  unity  of  Substance,  because  the  sen- 
tence happens  to  be  lonR.  Bather,  Iwcaust  ihe  thought  of  the 
author  of  a  (flven  sentence  lacks  unity  of  Substance,  the 
sentence  containing  the  expression  of  that  thouRht  Inevitably 
becomes  long. 


t63 


PRINCIPLKS  OF  STYLE. 


of  Cicero's  mind.  This  cause  is  tlie  death 
of  his  daughter,  TulHa.  No  sooner,  how- 
ever, has  the  author  of  the  whole  sentence 
finished  the  pru;ciple  clause  than  the 
thought  about  Tullia  suggests  the  iiine  of 
Tullia's  death,  namely,  shortly  after  her 
divorce  from  her  husband  Dolabella;  and 
no  sooner  has  the  author  finished  writing 
down  the  clause  that  contains  this  idea 
than  the  thought  about  Dolabella  suggests 
the  reason  "why  Tullia  secured  a  divorce 
from  her  husband  Dolabella,  namely,  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  disagreeable  husband. 
The  author  of  the  whole  sentence,  however, 
might  have  still  kept  on  writing,  if  only  other 
suggestions  had  come  to  him.  He  might 
have  yielded  to  the  very  natural  suggestion 
as  to  what  kind  of  manners  and  tastes  Tullia 
would  prefe'  in  the  man  she  would  have 
chosen  for  s  husband;  and  thus  might  have 
added  another  clause  to  the  rest.  In  this 
way  the  author  might  have  gone  on  writing 
forever. 

The  sentence  which  I  have  just  criticized 


iaiiHP:1^tfWgfc.*<-Jg3tota^>i^ajKi^iai^  £^«i£  JS-Uffiiats 


^ 


SKNTENCES. 


163 


;  IS  tlie  death 
sooner,  how- 
lole  sentence 
ie  than  the 
s  the  time  of 
:ly  after  her 
)labella;  and 
shed  writing 
ins  this  idea 
lella  suggests 
;d  a  divorce 
,  namely,  the 
ble  husband, 
ice,  however, 
f,  if  only  other 
I,  He  might 
al  suggestion 
I  tastes  TuUia 
:  would  have 
IS  might  have 
•est.  In  this 
ne  on  writing 

just  criticized 


iMixUt^s^^^^'^^^^'ifS^^'^i^^s^^^iUiali^'':^. 


is  torn  from  its  context.     It  is  barely  pos- 
sible, therefore,  that  the  ideas  expressed 
in  the  relative  clauses  of  this  sentence  may 
have  had  in  the  mind  of  the  author  logical 
connection  with  the  topic  of  the  paragraph 
in  which  this  sentence  exists.     If  so,  the 
relative  clauses,  expressing  as  they  do  ideas 
(liferent  in  kind  from  the  ideas  of  the  princi- 
ple clause,  should  appear  as  whole  sentences. 
But  if  the  ideas  contained  in  the  relative 
clauses  of  this  sentence  had  in  the  mind  of 
the  author  no  logical  connection  with  the 
topic  of  the  paragraph  in  which  the  sentence 
exists,  then  the  relative  clauses  should  be 
eliminated.     In  revising  your  own  original 
compositions,  then,  keep  well  in  mind  the 
logical  function  of  sentences.     That  func- 
tion, as  I  have  said,  is  to  express  an  aspect 
of  a  relatively  large  thought.      In  a  well 
composed  book  or  essay  each  one  of  a  series 
of  sentences  elaborating  the  topic  of  a  par- 
agraph must  present  not  only  an  aspect  of 
that  topic,  but  also  a  different  aspect. 
My  next  task  i.-i  to  explain  the  principle 


1 64 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLE. 


of  Unity  of  Form  as  employed  in  the  com- 
posing of  sentences.     Fully  to  appreciate 
the   application   of   this  principle   to   the 
constructing  of  sentences  you  must  under- 
stand   that    'form'    is    a  matter  of  order 
amongst  the  relations  of  the  parts  of  a 
sentence.      Now  the  parts  of  a  sentence 
are  words,  phrases,  and  clauses.  A  sentence 
has  unity  of  Form,  first,  when  the  parts  of 
a  sentence  have  the  same  form  of  structure, 
and,  secondly,  when  the  parts  of  a  sentence 
are  logically  coherent.     Strictly  viewed, 
only  compound  and  complex  sentences  can 
have  uniformity  of  structure.     But  a  com- 
pound sentence  must  have  uniformity  of 
structure  in  a  double  way,  while  a  complex 
sentence    can    have   it    only   in  one  way. 
Simple  sentences,  on  the  other  hand,  can 
ha\  e  unity  of  Form  only  by  way  of  logical 
coherence.     What  these  distinctions  mean 
can  be  made  plain,  most  easily  and  effect- 
ively I  judge,  through  illustration. 

In  the  case  of  compound  sentences  uni- 
formity of  structure  has  a  double  meaning; 


)  > 


/' 


in  the  corn- 
appreciate 
pie   to   the 
lust  under- 
ir  of  order 
parts  of  a 
a  sentence 
A  sentence 
the  parts  of 
}f  structure, 
f  a  sentence 
tly  viewed, 
intences  can 
But  a  com- 
liformity  of 
e  a  complex 
n  one  way. 
r  hand,  can 
ay  of  logical 
ictions  mean 
''  and  effect- 
ion. 

mtences  uni- 
)le  meaning; 


SENTKNCKS. 


i6S 


■■i 


it  has,  that  is,  a  logical  and  a  gramvmticaJ 
meaning.     Logically  viewed,  a  compound 
sentence  must  have  at  least  two  co-ordinate 
clauses;  each  of  these  must  express  co-equal 
parts  of  one  idea.     Grammatically  viewed, 
the  co-ordinate  clauses  of  a  compound  sen- 
tence must,  as  far  as  possible,  keep  the 
same  form  of  subject  and  the  same  form  of 
predicate.  Nothing  illustrates  so  well  these 
two  phases  or  kinds  of  uniformity  of  struc- 
ture as   the  kind    of  compound    sentence 
known  rhetorically  as   the   balanced  sen- 
tence.   Here  is  an  excellent  illustration: 

The  power  of  French  literatijre  is  in  its  prose 
writers;  the  power  oi  Kn^Hsh  literature  is  in  its 
poet8.(l) 

Each  clause  of  the  sentence  ]ust  quoted 
is,  as  you  note,  uniform  in  logical  structure; 
each  clause,  that  is,  expresses  co-ordinate 
or  co-equal  aspects  of  one  main  idea,  the 
idea,  namely,  of  the  contrast  between  tlie 
source  of  the  power  of  French  literature  and 


(It  Arnold:  The  LUerary  Infinenee  of  Academlea.  The  ital- 
icized words  In  the  text  are  mine;  they  note  the  uniformity  In 
grammatical  structure-In  subject  a  nd  predicate  (verb). 


:ss^^?a%'^'Hi^^^"^^'^'*^=nw?^  ^ 


WJiwitmigWuWi'^ 


^ 


t66 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 


the  source  of  the  power  of  EngHsh  litera- 
ture. Again:  Each  clause  of  the  sentence 
quoted  above  is  uniform  in  grammatical 
structure;  each  clause,  that  is,  keeps  the 
same  form  of  subject  and  the  same  form 
of  predicate  (verb)  as  does  its  fellow. 

Now  that  I  have  shown  you  a  compound 
sentence  that  nicely  possesses  uniformity 
of  structure  (logical  and  grammatical),  let 
me  show  you  a  compound  sentence  that 
lacks  uniformity  of  structure.  You  may 
thus  the  better  appreciate  the  meaning 
and  value  of  unity  of  Form.     I'<?re  is  the 

sentence: 

But  Howe  could  not  hear  to  acknoivledge  the 
defeat  of  his  attempts  to  storm,  and  accordingly, 
at  five  o'clock,  with  genuine  British  persistency, 
a  third  attack  was  ordered.{l) 

The  sentence  which  I  have  just  quoted 

above  lacks  uniformity  of  structure  because 

the  subject  of  the  first  clause  is  a  person 

(a  British  military  general)  and  the  predi- 


(1)  Quoted  In  Lewis:  A  First  B(tok  in  Writing  EngHah,  p.  101. 
The  italicized  words  in  the  text  are  mine;  they  note  the  viola- 
tions of  uniformity  of  structure. 


fee 


i^lish  Htera- 
he  sentence 
rammatical 
,  keeps  the 
same  form 
fellow. 
I  compound 
uniformity 
iiatical),let 
ntence  that 
You  may 
le  meaning 
1^'ire  is  the 

■joir ledge  the 

accordingly, 

1  persistency, 

just  quoted 
ure  because 
is  a  person 
d  the  predi- 


Ing  Enolish,  p.  101, 
y  note  the  vlola- 


SKNTKNCES. 


167 


cate  (verb)  is  in  the  past  tense,  indicative 
mood,  active  voice,  while  the  subject  of  the 
second  clause  is  an  event  or  act  and  the 
predicate  (verb)  is  in  the  past  tense,  indica- 
tive mood,  passive  voice.  The  result  is  that  a 
reader  is  compelled  to  rethink  or  to  think 
out  the  meaning;  to  determine,  that  is,  the 
connection  in  subject  and  predicate  between 
the  two  clauses.  The  meaning,  no  doubt, 
is  that  'Howe  (the  leader  of  the  British 
forces)  could  not  bear  to  acknowledge  the 
defeat  of  his  (first  and  second)  attempts  to 
storm  (the  American  entrenchments),  and 
accordingly,  at  five  o'clock,  with  genuine 
British  persistency,  a  third  attack  (on  the 
American  entrenchments)  was  ordered  (by 
Howe).'  Examine  the  sentence  I  have  just 
written  above,  and  note  all  the  explanator}' 
phrases  I  have  enclosed  in  brackets.  You 
will  thus  see  for  yourself  just  what  a  reader 
of  the  original  sentence  is  compelled  to  do 
in  order  to  think  out  the  meaning  of  the 
passage.  All  such  mental  labor  on  the 
part  of  a  reader  would  have  been  prevented. 


1 


=r;r35r-.-.H',':*:*'3^S^5KS5iSg 


^ 


itiiwiiJii—1',  *'""*"' 


f 


•  i 


1  I 


,68  PRINCIPLliS  OK  STYLK. 

if  the  writer  of  the  original  sentence  had 
made  its  clauses  uniform  in  logical  and 
grammatical  structure-if  the  wnter  had 
kept  in  each  clause  the  same  form  of  sub- 
ject  and  the  same  form  of  predicate.    Thus 

ordered  a  third  attack. 

\  complex  sentence,  as  I  have  said  can 
have  unity  of  Form  only  in  one  way.  Corv 
taining,  as  it  does,  a  principal  clause  and 
at  least  one  subordinate  clause,  a  complex 
sentence  has  unity  of  Form  when  the  sub- 
ject  and  the  predicate  (verb)  of  each  clause 

keep,  as  far  as  possible,  the  same  form  of 
gramMaticaljiructu^^ 

tence-- 1  turned  to  reply.  .^•^«"  I'^^t  „n  y  of  Forn.,  says  Dr. 
stanmnKgavewaywlthacrash-lack^un    y^^^^^  ^^^^^^^   ^^ 

Baldwin  (op.  cit.  sup.  P;.f '•  ''^„^*"'^,  ^„d  the  subordinate 
expressed  in  the  «"^«^f'"*t«;**^'hjs  Inversion  of  clauses 
thought,  in  the  ^'^'^'^llf'^^^;^  ™4r  as  unmoved  in  the 
.nalces  the  writer  "'  t»^*  .f^«"*^f  ^J^^j^d  he  arranged  so  as  to 
rul^trttl^S-'wTnfturnedtoreply.theplatfor. 


'■■«w«-i*v 


entente  had 
logical  and 
e  writer  had 
form  of  sub- 
licate.  Thus 
I  as  follows: 

knowledge  the 
accordinj^ly.  at 
persistency,  he 

lave  said,  can 
ne  way.  Con- 
\\  clause  and 
36,  a  complex 
when  the  sub- 
of  each  clause 
same  form  of 
Let  me  now 


play  a  curious  fallacy 
,8  unity  of  Form  when 
lUeroffact-  Thesen- 
rorui  on  which  t  was 
mity  of  Form,  says  Dr. 
he  main  thought  Is 
und  the  subordinate 
Inversion  of  clauses 
r  as  •unmoved  In  the 
lie  arranged  so  as  to 
to  reply,  the  platform 


SKNIKNCKS. 


169 


explain  the  meaning  of  unity  of  Form  as 
applied  to  the  constructing  of  complex 
sentences.  Here  is  a  complex  sentence 
which  keeps  the  "^ame  form  of  subject  and 
of  predicate  in  both  clauses: 

Making  [If  x't'  niiikv]  allowances  for  the  dif- 
ferences of  the  times,  surely  ii'e  am  observe 
precisely  tlie  same  thing  now  in  our  artistic  class. 

The  participial  (subordinate)  clause  of 
the  sentence  just  quoted  above  I  have 
chansred  to  a  conditional  clause,  in  order  to 
make  explicit  the  uniformity  of  structure 
in  both  clauses  of  the  sentence.  The  subject 
of  both  clauses  is  expressed  by  the  word 
'we;'  that  is  to  say,  the  subject  of  the 
principal  clause  is  identical  in  gender,  num- 
ber, and  person  with  the  subject  of  the 
subordinate  clause.  Again:  The  predicate 
(verb)  of  the  subordinate  clause  is  expressed 
by  the  word  'make,'  and  that  of  the  prin- 
cipal clause  by  the  word  'can;'  that  is  to 


on  which  I  was  stanulnj?  gave  way  wltli  a  crash."  Now,  as  I 
thinli.  the  structure  of  a  sentence  has  notlilnR  to  do  with  facts. 
Whatever  tlip  facts  of  tlie  case,  l)oth  the  orisinal  and  the 
revised  sentences  quoted  at)ove  are  identical  in  grammatical 
structure;  and  have,  tlierefore.  unity  of  Form. 


I 


.1- 

I, 


170 


PRINCIPLKS  OK  STYLK 


say,  the  predicate  (verb)  of  the  subordinate 
clause  is  identical  in  voice,  tense,  and  per- 
son, though,  perhaps,  not  in  mood,  with 
the  predicate  (verb)  of  the  principal  clause. 
So  far,  then,  as  grammatical  structure  is 
concerned  both  clauses  quoted  above  have 
simple  and  direct  unity  of  Form. 

Despite  what  I  have  said  I  must  prevent 
you  from  supposing  that  a  complex  sen- 
tence can  have  uniformity  of  structure  only 
when  each  clause  of  such  a  kind  ot  sentence 
keeps  strictly  the  sawe   subject  and   the 
sa>ne  predicate.  If  it  is  logically  demanded, 
and   grammatically    possible,   a    complex 
sentence  should  be  thus  constructed.     But 
if  it  is  not  logically  demanded,  /.  e.,  if  from 
the  point  of  view  of  sense  it  is  not  possible, 
a  complex  sentence  should,  so/ar  as  gram- 
matically possible  from  the  point  of  view 
of  sense,  keep  in   each   clause  the   same 
form  of  subject  and  of  predicate.  This  is  the 
real  meaning  of  unity  of  Form  in  a  com- 
plex sentence.O  Here  is  a  sentence  which 

(1)  lauiheredealiut;  with  Rhetoric,  not  with  Grainmiir.  Con- 


^ 


ibordinate 
e,  and  per-  • 
lood,  with 
ipal  clause, 
tructure  is 
ibove  have 

List  prevent 
mplex  sen- 
acture  only 
ot  sentence 
:t  and   the 
demanded, 
a   complex 
icted.     But 
/.  g.,  if  from 
lot  possible, 
ir  as  gram- 
lint  of  view 
:  the   same 
.  This  is  the 
1  in  a  com- 
tence  which 

,h  Grainmiir.  Con- 


SKNTKNCKS. 


»7' 


very  nicely  keeps  the  same  form  of  subject 
and  of  predicate  in  each  clause. 

When  at  U'ii«th  ihv  numivtit  [of  death  |, dreaded 
throiijfh  f>()  iiiany  years,  cittiiv  chwe,  ihv  ilitrk 
ilotid  piissL'd  tmnr  from  Johnson's  mind. 

Though  the  principal  clause  of  the  sen- 
tence just  quoted  above  has  a  subject  and 
a  predicate  different  materially  from  the 
subject  and  predicate  of  the  subordinate 
clause,  yet  each  clause  has  the  same  /or/// 
of  subject  and  of  predicate.  That  is  to 
say,  the  subject  of  each  clause  is  adapted  to 
the  same  form  of  predicate  in  each  clause — 
to  a  predicate  in  the  same  voice,  mood, 
tense,  and  person.  Briefly,  in  each  of  the 
clauses  there  is  no  needless  or  senseless 

soquontly  (  must  not  Ij«  undorstix)tl  to  usHert  that  unity  of 
Form  111  a  i-oiiiplex  sontenco  Is  ti  mutter  of  ki'H'iii>i"<".  What  I 
m«an  Is  that  a  complex  sentence  has  unity  of  Koriii  when  Its 
c/i(e/  part*  keep,  so  far  us  possible  from  the  point  of  view  of  sense, 
the  sume/ormofurammatlcal  structure.  Asa  matter  of  Brammar 
"a complex  sentence  must  have  only  one  main  purt.  and  thut 
part  must  be  expressed  as  the  main  clause."  Now,  as  I  submit, 
it  Is  not  the  business  of  the  rhetorician  to  teach  a  writer  how 
to  construct  grammattiMllii  or  syntacticaUu  a  complex  sentence ; 
It  Is  the  business  of  the  rhetorician  to  teach  u  writer  how  to 
secure,  in  the  wny  of  arttnttc  struehire,  unity  of  Substance  and 
unity  of  Form  In  a  aiwn  complex  sentence.  A  complex  sen- 
tence as  amatterof  grammar  may  be  acomplexsentence;  but, 
us  a  matter  of  ytiie  compinrftton,  It  may  lack  unity  of  Substance, 
or  of  Form.  v  ^ 


Irti'iiiWW'' 


,72  PKINCIIM.KS  OK  STVLK. 

chan^nn-  oi  the -omler,  nu.uber,  and  person 
c.f  tlu  ^ubject,  or  of  the  voice,  mo.,d,  tense, 
and  person  ',)f  the  predicate. 

Under  many  conditions  a  change  in  the 
subject  and  predicate,  or  in  the   form  of 
the  subject  and   predicate,  of  a   complex 
sentence  is  necessary  in  order  to  make  log- 
ical  (not  factual)  sense.      Only  K"od  sense 
and  tine  taste  can  determine  when  such  a 
change  is  logically  demanded.    So  that  my 
ultimatum  in  this  matter  is:     In  revismg 
your  original  compositions  see  that  your 
sentences,   when   complex,   keep  m   each 
clause,  so  far  as  grannnatirally  possible 
from  the  point  of  view  of  sense,  the  same 
^  form' of  subject  ami  of  predicate. 
■    Now" that  I  have  explained  the  meauing 
of  unity  of  Form  as  applied  to  the  con- 
structing  of  compound  and  of  complex  sen- 
tences,  I  must    explain    its    meaning    as 
applied    to    simple    sentences.      What    1 
shall  say  regarding  this  matter  is,  however, 
applicable  to  all  kinds  of  sentences,  whether 
compound,  complex,  or  simple. 


^ 


[intl  person 
ood, tense, 

nue  in  the 
le   form  of 
;i   complex 
make  lo^- 
iTood  sense 
hen  such  a 
So  that  my 
In  revising 
i  that  your 
ep  in   each 
//)'  possible 
yg,  the  same 
ate. 

the  meaning 
to  the  eon- 
complex  sen- 
meaning  as 
i.  What  I 
r  is,  however, 
ices,  w  hether 
lie. 


SKNTKNl  lis. 


'7.? 


Sinte  a  simple  sentence  does  not  contain 
clauses,  co-ordinate,  or  subordinate,  but 
only  words,  or  words  and  plu-ases,  a  simple 
sentence  has  unity  of  Form  when  its  parts 
ha\e  loo-/ccil  coherence.  A  simple  sentence 
has  logical  coherence  when  the  spatial 
order  of  its  parts  unmistakal)1y  presents  {or., 
rather,  represents)  the  order  of  thoui^ht ;  or, 
in  other  words,  when  the  syntactical  order 
amongst  the  parts  of  a  simple  sentence 
makes  strictly  a  unity ^  not  an  anil)io-titty, 
in  meaning.  Logical  coherence,  or  if  you 
like,  syntactical  coherence,  is  of  two  kinds, 
namely,  implicit  and  explicit  coherence.(') 
I  shall  immediately  define  both  kinds  of 
coherence,  and  illustrate  them. 

The  parts  of  a  sentence  are  implicitly 
coherent  luhen  words  that  are  closely 
related  in  thought  are,  so  far  as  idiomatic- 
ally possible,  in  Juxtaposition  on  the  written 

(1)  TlioiuoMi  luiiiinou!!  treutiiientof  tlu'  niutliodsof  obtain- 
IriK  colit'i'i'iifi'  ill  siMitt'nci'H  Is  to  b«  found  In  Professor  WeiiclfU's 
EnglitihComposUUm.  Chap.  Ill,  pp.  104-110.  My  own  troatnifntof 
coherence  In  sentencesdiffers  from  that  of  Professor  Wendell. 
How  my  treatment  differs  may  be  learned  by  consultlnK  the 
note  to  my  text  p.  lao  above,  and  the  te.xt  Itself  pp.  130-187  above. 


ii-iliililiiriiliaiaili 


i«M<iMiiiiaMiiiiiMii<"ii1nlfiilWW'i'''^ 


^ 


,i^iimiim'mmmtm!!mrmm»0t* 


174 


PRINCiri.KS  OK  STYl.K. 


'%i 


fniire.  Thnmjrh  the  s\  ntnctical  order  of  the 
wouls  of  a  sentence  a  reader  does  or  does 
not  j;et  one  nieanin«i.     If  tlie  syntaitieal 
order  of  the  w  >rds  of  a  sentence  unmistak- 
ably represents  a  sin^'le  meaning,  the  sen- 
tence has  unity  of  Form  b)  way  of  impHcit 
coherence;    if   the  syntactical   order  does 
not  unmiiuakably  yi-ld  one  meanings  the 
sentence  is  incohemvi.  and  therefore  has 
ambijruity  of  Form.     Here  is  a  sentence 
thai    lacks    imphcit    coherence   (unity    of 
Fort",  by  way  of  syntactical  order): 

At    Jorutno    [yeaiH    of    ajje)    the    President 
aiipo'»>te<l  tilm  1"«  private  rtecTetary.(») 

This  sentence  is  perfectly  ititelligibk: 
it  iaefins  tit  her—'  When  the  President  was 
fc  i.v-two  years  of  age  he  appointed  him 
.Mr.  A.  B.)  his  private  secretary;'  or— 
V  'When  Mr.  A.  B.  was  forty-two  years  of 
age,  the  President  appointed  him  his  private 
secretary.'  But  although  the  sentence 
quoted  above  is  thus  (in  a  double  way) 


,1,    Quoted  In  Herrlck  &  Dan.on:  Comv>mU>n  and  Bhfiori, 
ftyr  Seluwls,  p.  »1S. 


,K. 

I  order  of  the 
Lloes  or  does 
t  syntactical   . 
ice  unniistak- 
lin^,  the  sen- 
ly  of  inipHcit 
I   order  does 
meaning,  the 
therefore  has 
is  a  sentence 
ce   (unity    of 
order): 

the    Pi-crtident 
>ry.(») 
,'  intelligible: 

President  was 
ippointed  him 
jretary;'  or — 
•-two  years  of 
him  his  private 
the  sentence 
double  way) 

iIxwlMiin  ana  RhelorU- 


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SENTKNCES. 


«7S 


perfectly  intelligible  to  a  reader;  yet  what 
that  sentence  really  means  is  not  at  all  char. 
A  reader  must  stop  to  think  out  whether 
the  phrase  'Af  fhrfy-hvo  {years of  agey\s 
connected  in  thou^^ht  with  the  word  '  Pres- 
ident '  or  with  the  word  'him '  (Mr.  A.  B.). 
The  syntactical  order  or  the  'form'  of  the  sen- 
tence does  not  uiiwistahably  tell  a  reader 
the  precise  relation  of  the  phrase  '■At 
foriy-tivo  {years  of  agej  to  the  other  words 
in  the  sentence:  only  a  knowledge  of  the 
facts  can  tell  whether  or  not  the  syntactical 
order  expresses  the  logical  order. 

Logical  syntactical  order  (implicit  cohe- 
rence) is  not  always  a  mere  matter  of 
correct  thinking;  it  is  often,  for  various 
morphological  and  psychological  reasons, 
a  matter  of  tine  sense  of  adjustment.  The 
following  incoherent  sentence  nicely  illus- 
trates how  difficult  a  matter  it  is  always  to 
secure  the  finest  adjustment  in  the  parts  of 
a  sentence: 

A  glance  at  any  printed  page  will  show  that 
the  points  [places]  in  paragraphs  which  most 
readily   catch   the   eye  are— even  more  notably 


^ 


.*» 


176 


PRlNCiri.KS  OF  STYl-K. 


Implicit  coherence,  I  have  sa.c ,  ex.^ts  m 
,  sentence  when  words  (ideas)  closely  con- 
nected in  thought  are  in  i«xtapos,t,on  on 
.he  written  page;  when  the  words  ma 
sentence,  that  is,  bythe.r  very  syntactical 
X-by  their  •  form ' -unmistakably 
Express  one  meaning.  The  sentence  I  hav^ 

■ust  quoted  above  not  only  does  not  express 
lUtaUably  one  meaning, but dso,sawU. 

ward  in  syntactical  order.  The  sentence 
7have  just  quoted  above  does  not  unm  s^ 
takably'  express  one  meaning  because  - 
syntactical  order  the  word  '-.h.ch  s  con 
nected  with  the  word  ^paragmpk,  when 
Tn  reality  the  antecedent  of  the  word  ,.Arf 
!thewL'^»fc.'Thesyntact,calorder 

hat  is,  does  not  express  the  true  order  o 
thought.      In   an  artistic  p.ece  of  prose 
Composition,   however,  the    structure 
every  sentence  must  be  such  as  to  express 
unmistakablyajingle^idea; 


and  the  end.(l) 

said,  exists  in 
s)  closely  con- , 
ctaposition  on 
le  words  in  a 
iry  syntactical 
-unmistakably 
sentence  I  have 
oes  not  express 
but  also  is  awk- 

The  sentence 
oes  not  unmis- 
ling  because  in 
'wA/'c/t'  is  con- 
-agraph,'  when 
\\QVf  or  A' ivhkh'' 
yntactical  order, 
he  true  order  of 

piece  of  prose 
\e  structure  of 
ich  as  to  express 
1. 

Ci)m,v<>eitUm,9.V^-  Pro- 
o  explain  what  Implicit 
ny  own  criticism  of  this 
ressorWendelVscrltlclsm. 


SKNTKNCKS. 


I?7 


Afj;ain:  In  the  sentence  under  criticism 
the  parenthetical  clause — '  even  more  nota- 
bly than  in  sentences' — is  at  fault  much 
more  by  way  of  awkwardness  of  position 
than  by  way  of  bad  syntactical  order. 
Just  because  this  clause  is  parenthetical 
a  reader  has  merely  to  stop  and  to  join  the 
clause  with  its  proper  fellow  in  idea;  and 
this  a  reader  can  do  unmistakably.  But 
to  say  that  this  clause  is  in  an  awkward 
position  is  to  say  that  by  dint  of  recasting 
the  whole  sentence  the  clause  may  be  made 
to  fall  into  its  proper  place,  and  thus  to 
appear  as  an  artistically  composed  clause. 
Now  this  clause  not  only  is  separated  from 
its  logical  (or  true  syntactical)  comrade, 
namely  the  phrase  '  in  paragraphs^  but 
also  separates  words,  namely  '■are''  and 
''beginning ,'  that  in  thought  belong  together. 
In  sum,  then,  the  word '  ivhicK'  is  connected 
in  thought  with  the  word  '  points^  and  the 
qualifying  parenthetical  clause  '■even  more 
notably  than  in  sentences''  is  connected  in 
thought  with  the  phrase  '/«  paragraphs^ 


0^ 


I7S 


PRINCIPI.KS  OK  STYLK 


To  make  the  sentence  just  criticized  an 
artistic  whole,  words,  phrases,  and  clauses 
closely  connected  in  thought  must  appear, 
as  closely  as  idiomatically  possible,  in  jux- 
taposition on  the  written  page.  Thus  revised 
the  sentence  I  have  criticized  will  read  as 

follows: 

A  glance  at  any  printed  page  will  show  that 
in  paragraphs*,  even  more  notably  than  in  sen- 
tences, the  points  which  most  readily  catch  the 
eye  are  the  beginning  and  the  end. 

If  the  words— or  phrases,  and  clauses— 
of  a  sentence,  whether  the  sentence  be  sim- 
ple, compound,  or  complex,  are  syntactically 
in  their  proper  places,  then  a  sentence  has 
implicit  logical  coherence.  In  revising 
your  sentences  with  a  view  to  Unity  of 
Form  by  way  of  implicit  logical  coherence, 
see  that  words  closely  connected  together 
in  thought  are,  so  far  as  possible,  in  juxtapo- 
sition on  the  written  page. 

Secondly:  The  parts  of  a  sentence  are 
explicitly  coherent  -v/ien  the  grammatical 
form  of  any  ivord  in  a  sentence  unmistak- 
ably shows  its  own  relation  to  every  other 


.Titicized  an 
,  and  clauses 
nust  appear, 
isible,  in  jux- 
Thus  revised 
will  read  as 

will  show  tlint 
y  than  in  aen- 
idily  catch  the 

ind  clauses — 
itence  be  sim- 
:  syntactically 

sentence  has 
In   revising 

to  Unity  of 
:al  coherence, 
:ted  together 
)le,  in  juxtapo- 

sentence  are 

trramwatical 

nee  until i$t ah' 

to  every  other 


SKNTKNCKS. 


:m: 


ivonf.  In  e\er}'  sentence  there  is  some 
word  (or  words)  that  knits  together  all  the 
other  words  in  a  sentence  by  knitting  them 
to  itself.  Such  a  word  (or  words)  is  called 
a  connective.  A  connective  may  be  either 
initial  or  internal;  may  exist,  that  is,  either 
in  the  beginning,  or  in  the  body  of  a  sen- 
tence. Here  is  a  paragraph,  the  second 
sentenceofwhich  contains  a  bad  connective: 

Mr.  Richard  Harding  Davis  tella  a  story  of  the 
SantiajjfO  campaign  to  illustrate  how  men  love 
cleanlineaa.  [A  comrade  found  /i/'s  saddle-ba^, 
and,  findinjf  him  the  next  da}',  returned  pocket- 
book,  letters,  and  medicine  to  him.] 

In  the  second  sentence  just  quoted  above 
the  syntactical  connective  is  the  word '  his.'' 
The  clause  ''A  comrade  found  his  saddle- 
bag'' is  ambiguous  in  form:  a  reader  is 
compelled  to  think  out  whether  the  com- 
rade of  Mr.  Davis  found  his  own  saddlebag, 
or  the  saddlebag  of  Mr.  Davis.  Only 
indeed  by  dint  of  thinking  does  a  reader 
discover  that  the  word  '  his '  refers  to  Mr. 
Davis.  In  order,  therefore,  to  make  this 
sentence  have  unmistakably  one  meaning, 


^ 


If^  1>RINCIPLI:S  OK  STYLK. 

the  word  '  his '  must  be  made  to  indicate 
upmistakably  to  whom  it  refers.  This  can 
best  be  done  by  substituting  for  the  word 
'//A'  some  words  that  expHcitly  refer  to 
Mr.  Davis.  In  order  that  you  may  feel 
the  value  of  the  revision  I  recast  the  para- 
graph  in  which  the  sentence  criticized  above 

occurs : 

Mr.  Kichurd  Harding  Davis  tells  a  story  of  the 
Santiago  campaign  to  illustrate  how  "-;'--  . 
cleanliness.  During  this  campaign  Mr.  Dav.s  lost 
hi?  saddlebag,  which  contained  «  1-^^^ -^-^*^/ 
some  letters,  and  some  medicme.  A  comrade  ot 
Mr  Davis  found  this  saddlebag;  and.  on  meeting 
Mr.  Davis,  returned  the  bag  to  him. 

You  have  noted  the  great  amount  of  labor 
to  which  I  have  been  put  in  order  to  make 
the  sentence  I  have  criticized  yield  unmis- 
takably  one  meaning.  What  I  have  written 
down  on  paper  represents  what,  as  a  reader, 
I  had  to  do,  first  of  all,  in  the  way  of  think- 
ina      My  own  labor  in  the  way  of  thmking 
is\o  vever,  only  an  instance  of  what  any 
reader  must  do  in  order  to  get  sense  out 
of  an  inartistic  piece  of  prose  style.      In 
revising  your  original  compositions,  then, 


rstK 


SKNTKNCES. 


lit 


to  indicate 
^.  This  can 
»r  the  word 
tly  refer  to 
m  may  feel 
ist  the  para- 
ici/ed  above 

I  a  atory  of  the 
low  men  love 
Mr.  Davis  U)»*t 
I  pocket-book, 
A  comrade  of 
id,  on  meeting 

lount  of  labor 

rder  to  make 

yield  unmis- 

have  written 

t,  as  a  reader, 

way  of  think- 

ly  of  thinking 

of  what  any 

get  sense  out 

se  style.      In 

ositions,  then, 


with  a  view  to  logical  coherence,  see  that 
every  word  in  your  sentences  is  explicitly 
connected  with  every  other  word,  even 
if,  as  often  happens,  you  are  compelled  to 
recast  your  sentences  and  to  repeat  words 
you  have  used  before.(') 

The  Punctuating  of  Sentences:  A  Simple 
Method. — Punctuation,  as  treated  in  text- 
books of  Rhetoric,  is,  rightly  I  judge,  a 
bugbear  to  the  young  writer.  What  I 
have  to  recommend  in  this  matter  is  based 
on  a  fact  which  all  text  books  of  Rhetoric 
ignore,  on  the  fact  namely,  that  the  form 
and  the  length  of  sentences  determine  the 
nature  and  the  number  of  points  of  punctu* 
ation  needed  for  expressing  unmistakably 
the  meaning  of  any  sentence.     In  any  case 

(1)    "I  learned  from  Macaulay never  to  be  afraid  of  using 

the  same  word  or  name  over  and  over  again,  if  by  that  means 
anything  could  be  added  to  clearness  or  force.  Macaulay  never 
goes  on  lil<e  some  writers,  tallcing  about '  the  former,'  and  '  the 
latter,' '  be.  she,  it,  they,'  through  clause  after  clause,  while  his 
reader  has  to  look  back  to  see  which  of  several  persons  it  is 
that  is  so  darkly  referred  to.  No  doubt  a  pronoun,  like  any 
other  word,  may  often  be  repeated  with  advantage,  if  it  is 
perfectly  clear  who  is  meant  by  the  pronoun.  But  with  Macau- 
lay's  pronouns,  It  Is  always  clear  who  Is  meant  by  them."— Mill: 
"  Logic." 


J- 


^ 


m 


PKlN'Cn'i.KS  OK  STYI.K. 


Ik 


a  writer  need  not  use  more  than  two  points 
of  punctuation,  or,  perhaps,  not  more  than 

three.(') 

In  form  sentences  may  be  either  com- 
plex,  compound,   or  simple;    in   quantity 
they  may  be  either  lon^,  or  short.     Now 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  history  or 
evolution  of  the  En^Mish  sentence,  the  habit 
of  the  best  writers  of  to-day  (as  seen,  eg:, 
in  our  best  magazine  literature)  is  to  write 
either  short  simple  sentences,  or  complex 
sentences  with  only  one  subordinate  clause, 
or  compound  sentences  with  only  two  co- 
ordinate clauses.     Such  a  practice  on  the 
part  of  our  best  writers  makes  a  practical 
guide  for  the  punctuating  of  sentences.  My 
recommendations  I  shall  put  summarily. 
■  First:  Write  short  simple  sentences.  In 


,1)  The  Dotnt  of  exclamation.  If  not  obsolete.  Is  at  any  rate 
obsolL  Jont  8o  that  In  view  of  the  history  of  the  «hanKes  In 
?h.,  fo^  and  lenKth  of  the  English  sentence,  a  writer  need  use 
?„W  the  its  of  punctuation,  called  the  period  (or.  In  the  case 
?L.^™tlve  sentences,  the  point  of  Interrogation)  and  the 
of  >"*«'•"'«?";•'  *™^, ,;  theTnevltahle  result  of  the  evolu- 
Ho:;  of  11  Jrary  English  Awards  the  form  of  spoken  English. 

i/iteroture  Chaps.  XIX-XXIII. 


SKNTKNCKS. 


lis 


\  two  points 
more  tlian 

Mther  com- 
n   quantity 
lort.     Now 
;  history  or 
ce,  the  habit 
s  seen,  e.^:, 
)  is  to  write 
or  complex 
inate  clause, 
inly  two  CO- 
ictice  on  the 
s  a  practical 
ntences.  My 
Limmarily. 
lentences.  In 


lete,  is  at  uny  rate 
of  the  changes  Ui 
,  II  writer  need  use 
Hod  (or,  In  the  case 
irrogatlon)  and  the 
•esult  of  the  evolu- 
of  spoken  EnRllsh. 
rman's  AnalytUx  of 


that  case,  you  will  need  only  one  point  of 
punctuation,  namely,  either  a  period,  or  the 
point  of  interrogation.  You  will  be  com- 
pelled, however,  to  use  also  commas,  if 
your  simple  sentences  contain  words  or 
phrases  in  apposition.  Secondly:  Apiece 
of  prose  style  containing  nothing  but  sim- 
ple sentences  would  undoubtedly  become 
monotonous.  For  the  sake  of  variety,  there- 
fore, write  some  complex  sentences  with 
only  one  subordinate  clause,  and  some  com- 
pound sentences  with  only  two  co-ordinate 
clauses.  If  you  write  a  complex  sentence 
with  only  one  subordinate  clause,  you  will 
need  a  period  to  mark  the  close,  and  a 
comma  to  separate  the  clauses.  If  you 
write  a  compound  sentence  with  only  two 
co-ordinate  clauses  you  will  need  a  period 
to  make  the  close,  and  a  comma  to  separate 
the  clauses.  Here  is  a  paragraph  illustrat- 
ing the  whole  matter: 

Mj'  friends,  in  these  two  errors,  I  thinli,  I  find 
the  causea  of  a  decaying  church  and  a  wasting; 
unbelief.  And  what  greater  calamity  can  fall 
upon  a  nation  than  the  loss  of  worship?    Then  all 


vj^}::.^ti^:^xi^ir,^i^i.'^'.vf^m-m-4v-M'^^^^^ 


w^ 


r 


,H4  l-KlNriPLKS  or  STYl.K. 

In  this  passage,  as  you  note,   hmerson 
uses  only  short  simple,  complex,  and  com- 
pound sentences,  and  only   three  points  of 
punctuation.    If,  then,  you  too  wnte  only 
short  simple,  complex,  or  compound  sen- 
tences,  you  will  tind  .that   the  elahorate 
difficulties  of  the  old  systems  of  punctuation 
have  resolved  themselves  into  a  simple  use 
^  of  three  points,  namely,  the  comma,  the 
period,  and  the  mark  of  interrogation^ 

Words    as  Materials  of   P'^^.Stylc; 
Principles  of  Choosing  Them.-Not   al 
combinations  of  letters  used  as  means  of 
communication-except  where  '  realism    is 
demanded-are    'words'  in  the  sense  o 
materials  of  prose  style.     For  purposes  of 
fine  composition  a  writer  of  to-day  may  use 
only  such  words  i^s^reusedhyjepjUable 

mvinity  ctiUtu*- 


\._. 


<  the  tfiiipU'  to 
•t.  I.iti'rtitiirt' 
I.  Tlie  «'ye  of 
other  \vorl«l>*. 
•  liven  to  tritlen, 
ion  them.(l) 

»te,   Emerson 
ex,  and  com- 
jree  points  of 
o  write  only 
impound  sen- 
the  elaborate 
if  punctuation 
o  a  simple  use 
i  comma,  the 
rrogation. 

Prose  Style: 

lem.— Not  all 
d  as  means  of 
ere  'realism'  is 
\  the  sense  of 
'or  purposes  of 
to-day  may  use 
i  by  reputable 

,eforetheSenU)raa»»in 


SKNTKNtMS. 


ISS 


fonfeinporary  writers.  Let  me  explain 
this  matter  in  detail.  I  shall  put  what  I 
have  to  say  in  short  simple  maxims. 

First:   Use  only  such  words  as  arc  war- 
ranted by  the  style  of  coiifi'inporary  writers. 
On  the  whole  this  means:   Use  only  such 
words  as  are  warranted  by   the  style  of 
writers  contemporary  with  your  century. 
Sometimes,  however,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  a  few  words  used  by  writers  in  the 
early  part  of  this  century  are  either  obso- 
lete or  obsolescent,  this  means:  Use  only 
such  words  as  are  warranted  by  the  style 
of  writers   contemporary    with    yourself. 
Secondly:    Use  only  such  words  as  arc 
warranted  by  the  style  of  reputable  writers 
contemporary  with  the  present  century  (or 
with  your  own  time).     Reputable  writers 
are  those  "  who  have  literary  distinction, 
and  who  know  and  regard  the  structure 
and  history  of  literary   English  words." 
Thirdly:  Use  only  such  words  as  are  war- 
ranted by  the  style  of  the  reputable  writers 
of  your  07VN  country.     On  the  whole  there 


mitii 


^ 


,..'.ii,ii''i"r"rit 


jlUUi.  Ill  onWIBKIdlPW 


,86  PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK 

are  very  few  differences  between  reputable 
contemporary  Brithh  English  and  reputa- 
ble/I ///e/vV.?//  English.  If  you  are  yourself 
an  American,  use  always  good  American 
English;    if   a    Briton,  use   always   good 
British  English.      Always,  in  short,  use 
such  words  as  are  employed  by  the  reputa- 
ble writers  of  your  own  time  (day  or  cen- 
tury) and  of  your  own  country. 


My  task  is  now  finished.     In  my  own 
weak  way  I  have  told  you  how  one  may 
secure  a  mastery  of  the  art  of  writing  plam, 
idiomatic   English  prose  style.      Let   me 
summarize  the  processes.      First:  Every 
piece  of  prose  style  must  be  constructed 
according   to   the  principles  of  Unity  of 
Substance  and  Unity  of  Form;  must  be  so 
composed,  that  is,  as  to  express  a  single 
idea,  and  to  express  the  contents  of  this 
idea  in  a  logical  order.     Secondly:  For  the 
surest  application  of  these  principles,  every 
piece  of  prose  style  must  be  constructed 


tsiiSsss. 


^  i 


STYLK 

between  reputable 
nglish  and  reputa- 
If  you  are  yourself 
•s  good  American 
use  always  good 
lys,  in  short,  use 
yed  by  the  reputa- 
time  (day  or  cen- 
country. 


ihed.     In  my  own 
you  how  one  may 
art  of  writing  plain, 
se  style.      Let   me 
ses.     First:  Every 
ust  be  constructed 
iciples  of  Unity  of 
f  Form;  must  be  so 
to  express  a  single    . 
he  contents  of  this 
Secondly:  For  the 
ese  principles,  every 
oust  be  constructed 


SENTENCKS. 


187 


according  to  the  actual  method  of  com- 
position employed  by  all  good  writers.    In 
constructing  a  piece  of  style  with  a  view  to 
its  having  unity  of  Substance  and  unity  of 
Form,  all  expert  writers  proceed  in  gen- 
eral   somewhat    as   follows:    First,    they 
previse  the  general  substance  and  form  of 
what  they  mean  to  write  down  on  paper; 
next,  they  expaiidwhtxt  they  have  prevised; 
and,  finally,  they  revise  what  they  have 
expanded  into  a  whole  composition.  Since, 
however,  the  process  of   expansion    is   a 
material  or  psychological  matter,  and  the 
processes  of  prevision  and  revision,  a  struc- 
tural or  logical  matter,  all  expert  writers 
aim  primarily  to  previse  and  revise  their 
compositions  with  a  view  to  fine  structure  or 
logical  order.     To  previse  finely  they  take 
care  that  every  special  topic  of  discourse 
in  the  outline   of  their  themes  is  related 
strictly  to  the  limited  general  topic  of  their 
themes,  and   that   every   special  topic  is 
treated  in  a  logical  order,  in  an  order  nat- 
ural to  a  given  point  of  view.     To  revise 


^ 


sgaja:i?J-''i.'!ft.'-^''--"J-''^'*"*^''* 


t8l 


PRINCIPLES  OF  STYLK. 


finely  they  take  care,  again,  that  the  con- 
tents of  each  special  topic  are  related 
strictly  to  their  proper  topic,  and  that  these 
contents  are  put  in  a  logical  order,  in  an 
order  natural  to  a  given  point  of  view. 

For  gaining  a  mastery  of  fine  writing 
there  i#<eally,  after  all,  no  mechanical 
formulas,  no  mechanical  rules,  no  mechan- 
ical recipes.  It  is  all  a  matter,  first,  of  clear 
thinking,  and  finally,  of  straight  work. 


...itaM.i«i'i>>ai*'  illl''"1  ■"' 


V 


^ 


V 


at  the  con- 
ire    related 
d  that  these 
rder,  in  an 
f  view, 
ine  writing 
mechanical 
no  mechan- 
irst,  of  clear 
it  work. 


eabMMmiiMMW"* 


Jan  - 17  1901 


/^ 


